


Turning Over a New Leaf, Entering the Next Phase, And Other Rot Like That

by Allychik6



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys In Love, Case Fic, Creature Fic, Harry smells really good, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Mystery, Packs, Politics, Werewolves, but it's equal opportunity, discrimination as a theme, policing, vaguely possessive behavoir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26157751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allychik6/pseuds/Allychik6
Summary: For Harry, it's all in a day's work, helping Hermione with her werewolf outreach program, handling drunken splinchings or late night break-ins on the nightshift , fixing the faulty floo in his parlor, and putting Teddy to bed on time. So it doesn't leave much time for dating, that's okay because Ginny's out of town most of the time anyway. And besides, she's not ready to settle down. They're both young; they've got their whole lives ahead of them.And then there's a pelt found outside Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and Harry is sucked into a string of crimes. Crimes where his only lead seems to be Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who can't seem to keep himself out of trouble, who seems intent on shaking up the delicate balance of Grimmauld Place, who keeps stealing food from Harry's plate and irritating his Auror partner.And when did he get sofit?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 66
Kudos: 279





	1. The Start of A New Chapter

**5:30pm that evening**  


Harry tapped his quill absently on the nearly empty table in front of him. He slouched farther back in his chair, legs splayed wide and toes tapping alternately and silently on the floor. It was the only way to entertain himself, how quietly could he tap his toes in his Auror-issue dragon leather boots with their hard, thick soles? There were just three of them in the large conference room, long tables arranged in a U with nearly forty empty chairs. It had been at least ten minutes since someone had spoken. They had passed from small talk to comfortable silence to boredom, and there was still another thirty minutes to go.  


“Ms. Granger-Weasley, I appreciate that someone could come into this conference at any time, but I think it extremely unlikely.” Marjorie DeMarc stood. She was Kingsley Shacklebolt’s administrative aid on loan to take the minutes for the last several open forums Hermione had held in an effort to gain more public approval for her new Werewolf Legislation. Marjorie’s chair scrapped loudly across the tile, and she began to gather her things. “It has been three weeks after all, and not a single person has walked through that door other than us.”  


“Wait!” Hermione cried, but it was too late, Marjorie slipped her arms into her coat sleeves and pushed open the door.  


Harry straightened in his chair and began to put his parchment and quills away. “She’s right ‘Mione. This is the third community forum we’ve held in the last three weeks and no one has come to a single one.”  


And Hermione slumped in her chair. “I know. I just know that if someone comes in we can talk, and if we can talk then we can resolve these differences. We can make better legislation, we can make lives better.” She sounded emphatically hopeless.  


Harry reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know.” And he wanted it too, if only for Teddy’s sake. “They deserve better treatment, but we can’t make that happen if they don’t come in and talk to us.”  


“Lycanthropy is a disease! It should be treated as a medical condition, not--not discriminated against!”  


“I know, ‘Mione.” Harry pushed his own chair back. “I know. But we can’t make them show up if they don’t want to.”  


Reluctantly, Hermione began to gather her own quills and parchment. “I’ve worked so hard on this. And Shacklebolt is starting to make headway with repealing the AntiWere Legislation, but none of that will make a bit of difference if we can’t get them to agree with us. Reopening the Werewolf Support Services is supposed to help them. I want to help them. Why won’t they let me help them?” she whined as she pushed everything into her briefcase  


Harry slung his bag over his shoulder before tucking his arm over hers. “I know. And we’re going to. It’s just going to take some more time.”  


She sighed. “You’re right. I just need a new outreach campaign, something that speaks more directly to those inflicted with Lycanthropy.”  


Harry nodded sympathetically, but it had been four months of nonstop outreach and she hadn’t made much headway. And while Harry wanted to help Hermione, while Shacklebolt insisted on having an Auror presence at these meetings to show the entire ministry was behind the movement, Harry just couldn’t spend all of his time thinking about outreach. He had cases to handle, and Grimmauld Place needed work, and there was Teddy and Andromeda, and sometimes he wanted to spend time with Ginny and figure out what was going on with that part of his life.  


“We’ll figure it out,” Harry said, because he had defeated Voldemort and won a war and saved the muggleborn. He could be an Auror, and a godfather, and date, and save Werewolves too, right? “Are you having dinner at the Burrow?”  


“Just Ron tonight at the flat. You’re welcome to join us if you want. Ron promised to get takeaway on his way home from the shop.”  


Harry shook his head. “Teddy wants to have dinner, and then I’m on the night shift.”  


“You’ve had a lot of those lately.”  


“Yeah.” Harry didn’t say anything about how Robards was making subtle jabs about the Werewolf Support Services or the attempts at moving them from Beasts to Beings classification. And Harry had made one too many impassioned arguments in their favor, and Robards had put him on permanent night shift to prove his own point about the ruckus caused by Weres. It was an exhausting situation.  


“Give Teddy our love.” Hermione kissed Harry’s cheek before she stepped into the floo.  


Harry waited a moment for his turn, took a pinch of powder, and said, “Grimmauld Place.” He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped not to emerge in a billow of black smoke.  


Which of course was exactly what happened. Harry coughed loudly and waved his hand in front of his face to try and clear the smoke and dust.  


“Sorry, Harry!” Andromeda shouted from the kitchen. They all long since learned not to open the door when they heard the floo or the smoke would billow out into the hallway and onto the stairs. Teddy loved it when they had, running through the house, leaving sooty footprints, and then squealing loudly as Harry hauled him into the bath.  


Harry waited for several moments as the smoke and dust settled and then vanished the worst of the mess. He’d have to change his robes, unless he wanted to just vanish the whole set. He’d learned that the hard way too. Instead, Harry took them off and left the robes in a heap in the middle of the floor, his shirt and trousers had survived the worst of the mess, and he needed to change into something more casual for the night shift anyway.  


“I thought someone was going to come by today and look at that?” Harry asked from the kitchen doorway.  


Andromeda shrugged and pulled the shepherd's pie from the oven. “They were supposed to come by at 3pm, but claimed the Fidelius charm prevented them from coming inside.”  


“But I wrote the address on their stupid form.” Harry waited for her to step away from the sink before coming in and washing the soot from his hands and face.  


“That’s what I said, but the girl in the floo insisted her apprentice had shown up but couldn’t find the door.”  


Harry wiped water from his face. “That’s ridiculous. He was just scared to realize it was Harry Potter’s house.”  


Andromeda sighed. “I think so too, but I don’t know what to do about that. We ask for someone experienced and they don’t show up, we ask from someone new and they don’t show up. We schedule these things for when you’re out of the house, and they still don’t show.”  


“I’m going to have to fix the damn thing myself.” Harry groaned. “I don’t know the first thing about the floo network.”  


“Well, don’t do that!” Andromeda said with a frown. “I’ll call someone on Monday, a different company.” She set the pie in the middle of the three place settings, and then walked over to the kitchen window, which was open. “Teddy! Dinner! Harry’s here!”  


Teddy must have shouted something back, but Harry couldn’t hear from his seat in the dining room. He looked over the room. He really needed to get a smaller table, ten seats was really too much for the three of them, and maybe he could set out a table and a few chairs at the other end of the room to make a place to sit in the evenings, since the living room was almost always out of commission.  


“No! Not in one minute, now Mister. Harry is here and we’re both hungry. So get inside and we’ll all eat.”  


Harry leaned around to look into the kitchen. Andromeda was pushing up on the counter, toes barely touching the floor with her head halfway out the window. “I’ll get him,” Harry said.  


Andromeda plopped back down, feet smacking against the tile. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into him. His teacher pulled me aside when I went to get him from school to tell me he’s been fighting with some of the other boys in class, always over the blocks. Teddy wasn’t even playing with them, and he still got so upset when Justin picked one up.”  


“I’ll talk to him.” Harry tried not to sigh. Andromeda hadn’t seemed so flustered the first few years of Teddy’s life, when Teddy hadn’t slept through the night, wore nappies, and spent most of his meals flinging food across the room. But around the time he turned three, things had taken a turn for the frustrating, and eventually, Harry had been over for tea and she had burst into tears when Teddy had torn through the sitting room like a tiny whirlwind, leaving biscuit crumbs, toys, and dirt in his wake. At the age of six, things were still pretty much the same, but living together in Grimmauld Place, meant that at least there were two adults, one to distract while the other one tidied up.  


Harry stepped out the backdoor into the cool March air, and watched Teddy run through the grass of the back garden for a minute. He was chasing some small insect, running and leaping into the air and laughing wildly. “Hey, sprog!” Harry shouted, and Teddy turned to look at him.  


He burst into a grin that split the bottom half of his face and ran, full tilt, at Harry. Even braced, Harry stumbled back a step when Teddy thumped into him. “Have you gotten bigger since yesterday?” Harry asked, only half joking.  


“Yes!” Teddy shouted, squirming in Harry’s arms. “Put me down! Put me down!”  


Quickly, Harry turned on one heel, and set him down in the kitchen, making sure to fill the doorway so that Teddy couldn’t run back out in the garden. He’d learned quite a few lessons about parenting Teddy in the three years they’d all lived together.  


“I was chasing bugys! Chasing Bugys! Chasing Bugys!” Teddy squealed and began running from one side of the kitchen to the other in quick succession.  


Andromeda didn’t bother to hide her sigh. “Dinner, Mister Lupin, table now!” Teddy immediately froze, recognizing that tone of voice.  


He threw his head back and sighed loudly. “But I want to run!”  


“Of course you do. But first, food. Now march!” She gave him a gentle push towards the table, and then Teddy was running again. He jumped onto his chair and reached for his milk.  


“On your bottom!” Andromeda shouted, and Teddy dropped onto his bottom so fast he bounced on the chair. She turned to Harry and said quietly. “He’d been like this all day. I don’t remember any of my other children being quite this rambunctious.”  


Harry gave her a smile. With Teddy as his only real experience with children, Harry couldn’t say if this behavior was typical or not. He could say, however, that he loved the enthusiasm with which Teddy tackled everything. The way he could remain so still, crouched on the patio and watching ants file by, the way he ran to the broomshed and then squealed around the yard with one broom in hand so excited and not even in the air yet, the way he would lay in Harry’s arms, pointing at all the pictures in the books, talking excitedly until all of a sudden he was asleep and the story not finished yet. “Well, I hear they grow quite fast.”  


Andromeda smacked him on the arm. “That they do.” She rolled her eyes. “Come now, you must be starving. How did the community forum go?”  


Teddy let them talk work for a few minutes while he munched his way through the meat and potatoes, trying to avoid the carrots and peas. But it wasn’t long before he was jumping out of his chair and trying to tell Harry all about his day, about the letters they learned in school and about the order of the numbers. He talked about his art project, something with colored ice cubes and how they tasted just like really cold water but turned his tongue and mouth black. He told Harry all about the bugys in the yard, and how Andromeda let him skip his nap. And all Harry had to do was nod and smile and make noncommittal noises, and it was so easy and relaxing to listen to his chatter.  


Even Andromeda smiled.  


“Mama? Can I run in the garden again?” He asked, interrupting his own story about rocks in the grass, and Andromeda nodded. Teddy was darting out the door too fast for her to say much of anything.  


“I can help with the cleanup,” Harry offered.  


But Andromeda shook her head at him. “Don’t be silly. You can put him to bed while I clean up the kitchen and parlor. I could use a little order in my day.”  


“Alright,” Harry agreed. Bedtime was one of his favorite times of the day, just him and Teddy and a comforting routine. He loved listening to him splash in the bath and watching him run through his room to pick out a book. But most of all, Harry loved having him tucked up against him, a tiny ball of warmth that never seemed to dim. The fight to get Teddy in the bath or the screaming he did while Harry tried to wrestle him into pajamas or the way he squirmed with too much energy, sometimes kneeing Harry in the stomach or groin, all of that paled in those few moments of utter peace Harry felt when Teddy finally settled and nosed his arm pit and smiled so softly in his sleep.  


Harry gave Andromeda a nod as she spelled dishes into the sink to wash and stepped outside to play a quick game of chase that traditionally ended in the bathroom. He bribed Teddy into sitting still on the toilet while Harry started the bath with a story of the Marauders, making sure to give all the best parts to Moony, the Werewolf. He used to try and give Teddy true stories about his parents, but Harry didn’t know enough about their escapades. Eventually he started embellishing and then Teddy seemed to like the most ridiculous parts best, so now, Harry’s stories always had biscuits and princesses and daring escapes from the Lochness Monster.  


Those stories took them right to pajamas and books. And Teddy was apparently tired from not having a nap because he picked the first one up off the floor and curled into Harry’s side. He was asleep before the end of the third page. Harry finished the story, enjoyed his sleepy cuddle, and then kissed Teddy on the forehead.  


Harry scooted out from under the blanket, turned on the nightlight, and left the door open a crack in case Andromeda wanted to check on him. He took the steps lightly to avoid any creaking and opened his door slowly for the same reason. His room might be an entire floor away, but Teddy had good hearing. The Friday night shift meant splinchings, drunken castings, and potion overdoses. It meant getting a little physical to keep the peace, and on one memorable occasion getting pissed on by a muggle. So Harry pulled on some old denims and a loose long sleeve shirt with no buttons. Because there was nothing like getting into a drunken brawl, having a bloke tear your shirt and then having to summon all the buttons while giggling girls made equally giggly passes.  


Over all of that Harry put on his Auror robes. They would be warm enough to keep out the night chill.  


Since the war, a lot of witches and wizards had taken to patronizing magical and muggle establishments, which meant that on a Friday night, an Auror could find himself in any part of London having to look the part of a professional or blend into a crowd.  


They were exhausting shifts, and Harry was on week eight with no end in sight.  


He popped into the parlor and pecked Andromeda on the cheek. “I’ll apparate until we get it sorted.”  


She nodded and kept sweeping. “Be safe.”  


“Always.” Harry smiled and then left.  


From the front step he apparated to the Ministry. Perhaps the one and only benefit to working the night shift was that the Atrium was empty when Harry arrived. No reporters, no waiting in line for the lifts, it was almost a peaceful place. Except for the ridiculous echo of his boots. But then, nothing was perfect.  


Harry found a seat near Val in the back of the conference room and assumed his usual slouch.  


“Alright!” Auror Jenkins called attention at the front of the room. “You all know the drill. It’s Friday, a regular Friday, so we can assume the normal levels of drunken debauchery. When you get a call, stick with your partner! I do NOT want any fuckups like last week. Beckett, you owe me for that paperwork. I want everyone to pay extra attention to Were activity. The full moon is in three days, and they are sure to be a squirrelly tonight and tomorrow. Also, we still don’t have any solid leads on the pelt found three weeks ago and the one from the month before, so keep your ears to the ground for anything about that. Any questions?”  


It was Jenkin’s standard spiel before every shift and no one did.  


“Alright, find your partner and head out. I expect you all to respond to calls for backup. Help each other out tonight!”  


Harry looked over at Val, “Are we still West End?”  


“Yeah,” Val nodded gruffly.  


West End contained the largest number of Wizarding establishments and entrances, making it one of the busiest areas and no less than three Auror pairs were assigned to patrol the area. Add to that the bustling theaters and the tourists, and the whole area was a bit of a nightmare, but the crowds tended to keep the Were incidents down. Which was a blessing and a curse for Harry. Maybe if he ran into more of them he’d be able to talk one or two into visiting the Werewolf Support Services.  


Harry left his robes in his locker outside the training rooms and put on his regulation coat with it’s small but visible DMLE crest embossed on the lapel, and then followed Val to West End. It was busy, but nothing like what it would be in a few hours. Most of the shows had started already and the pubs and clubs wouldn’t get busy for a few hours yet. They started on a leisurely stroll down the pavement.  


“How’s that godson of yours?” Val asked, knowing that it was a sure way to get Harry to talk, so they chatted about Teddy for a good twenty minutes. And then spent twenty minutes trying to explain to some American tourists how to find some pub neither of them had heard of.  


“How was your day?” Harry asked after sending the Americans on their confused way.  


“Same old, same old. Listened to my Mum gripe about me being long in the tooth for a husband. My owl had the runs, so I spent the day cleaning up shit, and I’m still on night shift, so it’s been a lot of this bullshit.”  


“You’ve been on nights for six years, you know Jenkins would switch you to days if you asked,” Harry pointed out.  


“Bite your tongue.” Val scowled and Harry laughed.  


They helped a wizarding couple exchange their galleons for pounds at a food truck, and then helped a lost witch find her muggle boyfriend. By then it was close to eleven and the drunken encounters started. Harry disarmed a young wizard silently before he could break the statute of secrecy, and Val talked down an angry witch who’d been about to curse her husband. They broke up a fight in a bar, and completely ignored a public urination because who had time for that paperwork  


And by then it was midnight and the first call was coming in, a Pack of Weres in a club called the King’s Head. Val took the call on her firewatch, talking quietly to the flame in an alley while Harry kept watch.  


“So, the owner reported a Pack of Weres in his club gettin’ rowdy.”  


Harry nodded. “I’ve never been. Coordinates?”  


“I’ll side-along you.” Val sighed. “Last time you ended up thirty minutes late.”  


Harry sighed, but took her arm, and in the blink of an eye, they were reappearing in the back alley behind the club. It was one of the more bizarre places Harry had been, and in the eight weeks he had been on nights he’d been called out to a BDSM club, the Royal Zoo, and a public toilet. This was a regular club with a bar and tables, a dance floor and pounding music that made Harry throb. It was dimly lite and smelled like sweat and spilled alcohol like most clubs, and it was packed with bodies pushed close together and writhing.  


What made it odd was the taxidermy. Spaced evenly along the walls were stuffed animal heads, zebras, gazelles, lions, tigers, cheetahs, there was even an entire stuffed bear upright in the corner. And for a long moment, Harry couldn’t help but stare at the nearest wall.  


And then Val elbowed him in the stomach, hard. “We’re here to work, not pick up interior decorating ideas.”  


Harry shook his head, as if the physical act could shake the stuffed heads from his brain, and began to look through the crowd. After two months on nights, he and Val had fallen into a sort of pattern, where they would each head off in one direction and canvass half the location, before meeting up on the direct opposite side. Harry took the left and Val the right.  


He was halfway between the bar and the dance floor when Harry saw him, Draco Malfoy. There was no mistaking the bright blond hair no matter the location or level of lighting. With his thigh thrust up between the legs of another bloke, head thrown back, and writhing. He had a plastic cup of something clear in his hand which was draped possessively over the bloke’s shoulder, but his head was thrown back and his eyes closed. And for a moment, Harry completely forgot what he was doing. Malfoy looked so free, so different from the boy he remembered. He was pale but not sullen, he was slender but fit, he had hard lines and was so tall, he wasn’t anything like the boy at school.  


_Why was Draco Malfoy in a Muggle club?_  
Why was Draco Malfoy in a Muggle club with his leg thrust between the legs of another man, shuddering and looking utterly taken? His throat was one long line, and so smooth, eyes half lidded, mouth bitten pink. Is that what he looked like in the heat of the moment? Is that what he would look like if, instead of the strange bloke, it were Harry?  


And then, as Harry was trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person instead of this almost-panting, Malfoy looked at Harry. His gaze was direct, challenging, calling for judgement of some kind. But all Harry could do was stare and stare and stare, caught in this strange moment, where a boy he hadn’t thought of in four years was dancing in a muggle club, was wearing a black mesh shirt that didn’t hide his Mark and shiny black pants that had been painted on his body, and grinding and thrusting and Harry wanted him.  


He leaned down and said something in the ear of the man he’d just been grinding against, who startled and turned to look at Harry. His eyes were wide, and he said something back, Draco pitching his ear close to his mouth to listen. But then Draco was shaking his head, and shouting something back, pulling his arm with the drink over his shoulder, and making eye contact with Harry.  


The man quickly disappeared into the mass of writhing bodies, but Malfoy stayed at the edge of the dance floor, standing still and eyes on Harry. He took a long drink from the cup, shook his head, and then stepped away from the mass.  


Unconsciously, Harry stepped towards him. “Malfoy!” he shouted over the din.  


“Potter!” Malfoy shouted back with the ghost of a smile on his face. He took another drink. “And what brings you to this fine establishment?”  


“Why are you here?” Harry asked.  


“Why, to enjoy the ambiance, of course?” He took another drink. “You scared my date away.” He frowned.  


It was surreal. “Sorry?” Harry said, mostly trying to understand. “Was he a muggle?”  


“So what if he was?” Malfoy scowled. “It’s my business who I go home with at the end of the night. Not yours.”  


Harry was busy trying to remember what he knew of Malfoy. Harry had spoken at the trial, Malfoy had been given a year of house arrest, they’d allowed him to do his NEWTS at the Ministry, and then...nothing. He’d done his house arrest without incident. He’d had a year of probation afterwards, Harry remembered suddenly, but after that, nothing. Malfoy hadn’t been seen at any fundraisers, ministry functions, he didn’t apply for any sensitive jobs, he’d just dropped out of everyone’s purview.  


“What have you been doing?”  


“Am I under investigation?” Malfoy countered.  


“No.” Harry eyed his drink, and suddenly wished he could have some social lubricant to ease the tension in this conversation. “I just didn’t expect to see you here.”  


Malfoy finished his drink and spread his arms as wide as he could in the crowd. “Well, here I am, defying your expectations.”  


And then there was a moment of awkward silence, which Malfoy broke. “Why are you here?”  


“We got a call about a disturbance, some Weres getting rowdy.” Harry answered honestly, because why would he lie?  


“Ahhh,” Malfoy drew out the sound, long and low in the back of his throat. “Well, I would hate to interrupt the important Auror work you are doing, protecting innocent muggles from rowdy Werewolves.” And there was something in his tone or his words, that made Harry think Malfoy was being sarcastic, or at least insubordinate.  


“You haven’t seen anything, have you?” Harry asked for lack of anything else to say.  


Malfoy grinned with all his teeth. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. Going to make an official inquest?” He dumped his empty cup on the nearest table.  


“No,” Harry said.  


Malfoy nodded. “See you around, Potter.” He gave a wave and melted back into the crowd of the dance floor.  


Harry finished the inspection of the club and met with Val on the other side of the room. “Find anything interesting?” She asked.  


“Just Malfoy.” Harry admitted.  


“He’s not interesting, just fucking annoying.” Val scowled at him. “Guess we better hang around a little longer, just to make sure.”  


“Yeah, I guess.” Harry said, already looking through the crowd for that flash of bright white. But it wasn’t to be seen. They stayed for another forty minutes, just to be sure, and then continued on with the patrol. Val talked about her latest attempt to bake something edible and Harry talked about his problem with the floo. And somehow they both managed to make it to shift change at 8am.  


And then Harry went home to pretend to sleep for several hours before getting up and doing it all over again. All in all, a rather typical Friday.

* 

**8:35pm that evening**  


Draco flopped down on Sawyer’s bed in the smallest bedroom of the flat. There were two twin beds, each shoved into a corner with shelves haphazardly hung over top, and there was a thin mattress on the floor, mostly shoved under Sawyer’s bed to keep anyone from stepping on it. The bed wasn’t really Sawyer’s any more then the mattress was Draco’s because there weren’t quite enough beds for everyone to sleep, but it was the place they both slept most often. And it was the room where they kept their clothes.  


Sawyer had his head buried in the closet and was busy throwing shirts that had fallen off the hangers onto the bed. A pair of nice trousers smacked Draco in the face.  


“Oi! Watch it there!” Draco called. “I’m still covered in potion here.”  


Sawyer poked his head out the door. He had a wide grin that never failed to make Draco grin back, and his eyes were especially bright tonight. “Do we have enough?”  


Draco fell back on the mess of blankets and pillows. “I think so. I’ll test it tomorrow.” He grinned up at the ceiling. He’d stayed up all day brewing to ensure there was enough. Alan had been quite upset that he couldn’t cook his ramen, since Draco had used all the pots and all four burners on the stove, but no one argued when he was brewing. The potion was far more important.  


Draco flipped back upright when the tingling on his skin made him restless. It was always like this close to the full moon, too much energy and excitement and everyone in the flat itchy and bright. “Why are you in there?” Because usually Sawyer would be out at the movies or the restaurant, or just roaming the streets.  


Sawyer threw himself back among the clothes. “We’re going out tonight!”  


“I thought Ajax said no.” Ajax usually said no to the mass of them going out together. There was safety in the Pack, but also risk. And Ajax hated the Aurors more than Scotland Yard.  


A black mesh shirt came flying out of the closet. “He changed his mind.”  


Draco snatched it from the floor. “Who managed that?”  


Sawyer came out with his dark trousers and his own tight t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. It was brown, matched his leather jacket, and never failed to impress Draco. In fact, just the idea that Sawyer was going to wear that jacket, had blood pooling in his crotch. Sawyer sniffed the air, “Seriously, Draco?”  


Draco shrugged, unrepentant. “What? You can’t seriously be surprised.” Because they slept in the same room, sometimes in the same bed, and they had lived together for the last four years. Really, Sawyer had no excuse to be surprised.  


“Alice talked him into it. I think mostly by whining in his face until he told her to get out and take her lousy friends with her.”  


“Where are we going?” Draco quickly stripped off his shirt and pulled the mesh on. It was enough to disguise the scars on his chest and the Mark on his arm, although they were all vaguely visible. Draco might have worn something with more coverage, but he got too damn hot in the clubs.  


“King’s Head.” Sawyer stripped off his trousers, and Draco stopped to watch his powerful thighs and arse and all that smooth dark skin. “Stop that or you won’t be able to fit in your trousers, and I am not sitting around while you have a wank.”  


“Fine.” Draco stood and turned his back. It was true, those pleather trousers were uncomfortable enough when he got hard already in them. They were impossible to pull over an erection. So Draco stared at the white wall and thought about terribly unsexy things, like Ajax during the new moon, or the way Florence liked to flounce about the flat in the nude, or anything to do with the Ministry of Magic. Especially the Werewolf Support Services. Ugh, and wasn’t Granger in charge of that department. And with that, somewhat abhorrent thought, Sawyer tossed Draco his trousers, and Draco was able to put them on.  


“I love King’s Head.” Draco said once he was fully dressed and facing Sawyer.  


“You love anything related to head.”  


Draco sighed, loudly, longingly. “I really do.”  


Sawyer shook his head. “Let’s go.”  


They walked out to the living room where Alice, Clarence, Joe, and Thomas were fooling around, each dressed in their own clubbing outfit. Alice was particularly scandalous in her thigh high fishnets and cleavage popping corset. She was also throwing herself at Joe, arms flailing, but Joe caught her easily, the way he always did and kissed her on the mouth. Draco smiled, because while he might not be getting any sweet loving action himself, he certainly wasn’t going to be upset that they were.  


They took the red line to Oxford Circus and then the brown one stop to Piccadilly. If Draco had gone one stop farther, it would have been just like going to work, and he almost forgot to get off the tube. Sawyer grabbed his hand to pull him out the door before it closed.  


They practically skipped down the pavement towards the club, Draco and Sawyer with tangled fingers, Joe carrying Alice on his back while Clarence and Thomas took turns body checking each other and exchanging punishing slaps on the shoulder. The laughter echoed inside the alleyways where Joe paused to snog Alice fiercely, and Sawyer pulled and pulled and pulled on Draco as they hurried ever closer to the night’s salvation.  


King’s Head was full, packed tightly with tourists, the young and wealthy, and those like Draco--who knew the bouncer and received the friends and family discounted cover. For a moment, the six of them stood, grouped near the door, taking in the smells and sights. It was spilled alcohol and sweat and too much perfume. There was the heady scent of arousal from those looking for a one time lover, and the tang of citrus fruits from the bar. The music beat its rhythm harsh and loud until it drowned out everything except the most persistent of heartbeats.  


Alice smiled with her tongue between her teeth while reaching behind her to grab Joe’s shirt and pulling him forward. Clarence and Thomas made for the bar, leaving Sawyer and Draco to grin like fools at each other. Draco couldn’t stop himself, his head was moving, his foot hitting the floor, and Sawyer laughed and laughed and laughed as he pulled Draco towards the dance floor.  


It was always like that between them, laughter and teasing and possessive touches, because Sawyer was Draco’s and Draco was Sawyer’s in a way that was different from the rest of the Pack. It wasn’t like Alice and Joe and it wasn’t like Florence and Ajax; it was different, but just as strong, just as deep, just as much. And they could dance together, with Draco’s arms around Sawyer’s waist, and Sawyer pushing back against him and it looked like sex.  


But it wasn’t, it wasn’t ever sex between them. And while Draco would have quite happily let Sawyer push him against a wall or into a mattress or down to his knees, Sawyer wasn’t interested in that. And that was okay with Draco because having Sawyer was more important than sex with Sawyer. And if Draco watched Sawyer undress, and thrust languidly up against him in the small hours of the morning while he was still mostly asleep, and laid himself across Sawyer’s lap while they watched telly, that was okay too, because Sawyer needed Draco just as much as Draco needed him and they both knew which lines not to cross.  


The club was one of those places where things between Sawyer and Draco were always more because Sawyer was young and good looking and terribly, terribly worried about being hit on. So he clung to Draco, kept no space between them, and used Draco as a shield between him and the world. They went to the bar as a pair, and stood next to each other at the urinals, and Sawyer kept a firm grip on Draco’s hand as they moved for a space on the dance floor.  


It was easier on the edge of the dance floor, the air moved more, and the stink of stale alcohol and sweat wasn’t as overpowering. It was closer to the bar, and Draco was on his third vodka tonic. He was relaxed, and the music pounded in a fierce beat that slammed at his ribs and through his veins and all that energy finally had an outlet. He pulled Sawyer close, thrust his thigh between his legs, and rode the high.  


And then he smelled it, something like dirt and wet grass, a faint thing that floated over the sweat, something sweet and fresh, and Draco closed his eyes. It tugged at his memory, something he hadn’t smelled in a long time, but it was distinct and only took a moment to place.  


Draco opened his eyes to see Potter standing between him and the bar. Why did he have to be so fucking fit with his shoulders and his muscles? His hair was still awful, thick and curly and wild, and he was dressed in denims and a t shirt, presumably to fit in at the club. But he stood tall and distant, observing without partaking. On duty then.  


“Aurors are here,” Draco said in Sawyer’s ear.  


Since the end of the war, and with the huge number of Werewolves suddenly in the city, the Ministry of Magic had instituted new rules and regulations for Weres. Rules like they all needed to register and then the Ministry would help them with wolfsbane potions and job placement, but the wolfsbane was administered by the Auror department, and Weres would have to report to the department every day the week before the full moon for their dose. Rules like incarceration during the full moon, which was ridiculous. But the most abhorrent was the number of Weres permitted in a certain area, a maximum of three per establishment.  


It meant that Sawyer, Draco, Alice, Joe, Clarence, and Thomas were all in violation that evening at the club. It meant that they were all in violation when they were in the flat. It meant that Packs couldn’t be together.  


And so Ajax had his own rules, rules about talking to Aurors or police officers, rules about scattering and meeting up later, rules about how often they could frequent establishments and in what kinds of groups.  


But Potter had seen Draco, was staring at him in fact, and Draco knew if he left that Potter would follow.  


“Where?” Sawyer asked.  


“Behind you.” And Sawyer turned to look, locked eyes with Potter, and then turned back into Draco’s arms, pushed himself a touch closer. “You go tell the others. I’ll distract Potter.”  


“But Ajax--”  


Draco shook his head. “Trust me. I’ll distract Potter while you all get away.”  


Sawyer sighed. “Ajax is going to be absolutely pissed.” But he stepped around Draco, into the crowd to find the others.  


And Draco lingered on the edge of the dance floor, standing still and staring at Potter, daring him to say or do something. But when Potter didn’t move, Draco took a long pull from his drink and moved forward.  


Potter mirrored him, shouting, “Malfoy!”  


“Potter!” Draco shouted back as he got closer. At this range, the smell of dirt was much stronger, blocking out the less pleasant scents. God, but Draco had forgotten how good he smelled, forgotten the way it intoxicated him, forgotten that feeling of want. It was so different from what he felt with Sawyer, because Sawyer was comfort and home and Pack. But Potter, Potter was more like prey, something to chase down, to nip and tumble, it called to the wild part of Draco. He took another drink to smooth over those feelings. “And what brings you to this fine establishment?”  


“Why are you here?” Potter asked in what Draco could only imagine was his Auror voice.  


This was the dance that Draco remembered, that slow circling, the tease of information to see who would give first, who would give more. “Why, to enjoy the ambiance, of course?” He took another drink. “You scared my date away.” Because if Potter didn’t know, then Draco wouldn’t be the one to tell him.  


“Sorry?” Potter quirked his head quizzically. “Was he a muggle?”  


A growl started in the back of Draco’s throat, it stemmed from his need to protect Sawyer. “So what if he was? It’s my business who I go home with at the end of the night. Not yours.” He tried to keep the growl in, but it sneaked out towards the end.  


Luckily Potter couldn’t hear it over the noise of the club. He asked, “What have you been doing?” as if there were two old acquaintances who just happened to run into each other and were catching up.  


Draco didn’t like it. “Am I under investigation?”  


“No.” Potter eyed his drink as if alcohol was what made Draco surly. “I just didn’t expect to see you here.” As if Draco were doing something wrong just by breathing, by trying to live his life. As if Draco hadn’t changed.  


He tossed back the last of the vodka and spread his arms as wide as he could in the crowd. “Well, here I am, defying your expectations,” he taunted.  


It was exceedingly awkward when Potter didn’t retaliate, and Draco realized he’d overreacted. “Why are you here?” he asked rather than apologize for his behavior.  


“We got a call about a disturbance, some Weres getting rowdy,” Potter replied.  


He had been right to send Sawyer away, to warn the others, because Potter wasn’t here for Draco personally. And clearly Potter didn’t know, not that that was a surprise, he’d never been all that quick on the uptake. But still, it was nice to know he had the upper hand in the conversation, to realize that he was about to pull one over on the Savoir. “Well, I would hate to interrupt the important Auror work you are doing, protecting innocent muggles from rowdy Werewolves.”  


“You haven’t seen anything, have you?” Potter asked, as if he trusted Draco to be honest, almost as if they were friends once.  


Draco grinned with all his teeth, because really, he’d thought this evening would be fun, but this was too much. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.” He tipped his head to and fro gleefully. “Going to make an official inquest?”  


“No,” Potter said.  


Good, Draco thought. He breathed in deep, searching the scents for signs of the others, but that faint trace had dwindled to nothing. “See you around, Potter.” He gave a wave and melted back into the crowd of the dance floor, making his own escape.  


It was still early, barely past midnight, and Sawyer was lurking in the tube station when Draco arrived breathless and giddy. “What happened?” Sawyer asked, eyes darting around in case someone had followed Draco.  


“Nothing,” Draco grinned and leered. “Potter is still an idiot.”  


Sawyer looked over at the rail line. “We should get back.”  


Draco groaned with his entire body. “I couldn’t possibly go back, not yet. I haven’t felt this glorious in a long time.” Draco rolled his head about, stretching his neck, and luxuriating in the knowledge that he had bested Potter. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”  


And Sawyer grinned back at Draco, because the moon was getting full and the air in the station was humid and they were them. He grabbed Draco by both hands and pushed their foreheads together. “Okay.”


	2. Murder, She Wrote

That giddy feeling evaporated when Draco and Sawyer returned to the flat early in the morning. Ajax was waiting on the sofa, with Florence draped against him and flicking idly through a magazine. The telly wasn’t on, and there weren’t any of those weird books (Catcher in the Rye or A Farewell to Arms) that Ajax liked so much. It was a bad sign. No one else was in the room, and considering the ten of them shared a four bedroom flat, that couldn’t be a good thing. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Ajax demanded as soon as the door shut. 

Draco stepped in front of Sawyer. 

“The others have been back for hours, said Aurors were at the club. Where have you been?” He growled, the hair on his arms standing up. 

Sawyer whimpered softly behind Draco, but Draco drew himself up. “Yeah, Aurors came to the club. I distracted them so everyone else could get out.” 

Ajax flew off the sofa, straight to Draco’s face. He wasn’t as tall, but he was muscled. There was a set of weights in the corner of the room he used pretty much everyday to keep up the muscle mass. And he ran too, five kilometers a day. He was strong enough to put Draco out of commission, especially since Draco didn’t carry his wand regularly any more. “Why the fuck would you do that?” 

“He--” Sawyer started to explain. 

“Go to bed, Sawyer. You have work tonight.” Ajax growled without looking away from Draco. 

Sawyer whimpered again, but then took himself off to their room. 

“You were told not to talk to Aurors.” Ajax shoved Draco up against the door, hands locked on Draco’s biceps. “Why can’t you follow such simple instructions. Aurors are dangerous. You, of all of us, know that.” His voice was low enough not to carry out of the room. Florence flicked another page of her magazine. 

Draco shoved him off, and Ajax let himself be shoved. “It was Potter, alright. And Potter knows me, yeah, not likely to just let me go without a little chat.” 

Ajax pushed himself back into Draco’s space. “I told you--” 

“Yeah, I know, alright!” Draco shouted. “And if you’d been there, then you could have dealt with Potter. But I know him, yeah.” Draco pulled his shirt up. “These aren’t all from Greyback. I know Potter, and he wasn’t about to just let me walk out of there.” 

“You know the rules!” 

“Yeah, I know them!” Draco shouted back. “And if leaving had been an option--” 

Ajax slammed his forearm against Draco’s neck, pinching out the air. He leaned in close, breathed hotly on Draco’s ear while Draco squirmed, lungs screaming. “Follow the rules. Because next time you break one, don’t come back.” He kept his arm up, kept squeezing out the air until Draco’s vision started to go grey and he tilted his head to the side, baring his neck in submission. 

When Ajax let go, Draco slid down the wall to crumple on the floor. 

Ajax stormed back to the sofa and flicked on the telly. Draco stared at the back of the furniture, not at Ajax or Florence, because then they would know he was glaring, then they would take him to task again for insubordination. 

After a few minutes, Draco hauled himself off the floor, certain that Ajax was tracking his moves just as Draco was tracking him. He slipped into the room with Sawyer who was playing on his mobile when Draco crept in. Sawyer put it down on the floor and scooted over on the bed, making room for Draco to lay down. They fell asleep that way, with Draco’s head tucked underneath Sawyer’s, their legs and arms a tangle. 

* 

Harry was just coming in from his Tuesday night shift when the call came in of a crime in Diagon Alley, specifically Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. As the senior partner, Val took to call on her wrist, and glanced briefly at Harry when she heard the location. “No, we got this one. Yep, it’s right on our way. Val and Potter out.” 

Ron and George were standing outside in the early morning light with the shop still closed. It was well before the streets would fill up with shoppers, but there were still people out and about, making deliveries, cleaning off stoops and windows, getting shops ready to open. When Ron saw Harry and Val walking up the street, he quickly ran over and said in a quiet voice. “Harry, I’m sorry, I am. We got an early shipment this morning, and when George went out to help unload the boxes, he turned back towards the store and saw it, just hanging off the arm.” 

Harry looked at the enormous window with the charmed mannequin that burst out of the top, both arms peeking out of opposite window panes, one slowly raising and lowering his green top hat to show off the rat underneath. It was a fitting tribute to Fred, but not with the wolf pelt draped across his arm. Harry licked his lips, caught Val’s eye, and nodded up towards the pelt. He didn’t want to draw extra attention to it by pointing. 

She looked up, and then began speaking quietly into her wrist, letting headquarters know the nature of the crime and that they’d need a few more Aurors to keep the crowd back and inspect the scene. Harry approached George to begin his questions. “What time did you come outside?” 

“The deliveries are always around 6:15, but I think this one was a little later, maybe 6:20.” 

“Was it the same delivery person?” 

“Yes, Winston. We chatted a few minutes about his new delivery broom. It’s got three new expansion charms on the delivery box.” 

“And when did you notice the-the pelt?” Harry stumbled over the word. 

“Just when I turned around. Oh god, Bill is going to be a mess,” George said suddenly. “Fleur said he positively raged, tore up her begonias and everything after they found the first one. And now there’s one in the shop!” He clenched his hands tightly. “Those bastards.” 

Harry remembered. The Prophet had reported it on a Sunday morning with a huge headline _Werewolf Pelt On Ministry Statue: Time to Reevaluate Their Reintroduction._ As if there had been a time in living memory when Weres had been a part of civilized society. Hermione had been positively livid and written several letters to the editor that were never published. Harry nodded. “It’s horrible.” 

Another Auror pair, Terry Boot and someone from R and D that Harry didn’t recognize began scanning for magical residue. They had a few very interesting devices that had just been approved for use, but the scanner had been around for ages. Terry gave it a whack and pointed it up towards the pelt. He shook his head at the R and D bloke. 

Harry and George stood next to each other for a moment and watched Ron and Val try to rig up a ladder to get the pelt down for a closer inspection. It was a long, spindly thing with the rungs a little too far apart, something transfigured and not quite the right size to make something so tall. But then Val was scrambling up and putting her hands on the pelt, sinking her fingers into the fur and then recoiling a bit before tossing it over her shoulder, and sliding down. Harry tried and failed to repress the shiver of revulsion. 

“Come on Potter,” she called from the door by the shop. “Let's get this out of here before the reporters show up. 

Harry nodded at her, and then turned to George. “Mind if we go through the shop? It’ll make less of a fuss.” 

“Not at all.” George waved towards the door and it opened for Val. 

Harry glanced around and saw the burgundy robes of a second Auror pair making their way down the street. They were still too far away for Harry to tell who it was, but at this point it didn’t matter. People were starting to peek out their shop doors to see what all the fuss was about, and they were noticing Harry. With a last nod at George, Harry nipped into the shop, Boot quick on his heels. 

“Well, this is bad business,” Boot said, looking at the pelt. 

Harry tried to fight down a roll of nausea at the sight. “Scan it quick so we can get it out of here.” 

Boot nodded, and pointed his tiny square device at the pelt. It was quiet. “It’s clean, no magic.” 

Val found a roll of brown paper behind the counter and used it to wrap up the fur, quick and efficient. “We’re out through the floo then. See you back at Headquarters.” She pinched some powder from the mantle and disappeared in the flame. 

Harry went right behind her. 

There wasn't a procedure for what to do with wolf remains. Human bodies were treated with respect, had carefully constructed containers, would be reassembled if possible-cremated if not-before returning to the family. But three pelts now would linger on the shelves in Evidence, unidentifiable, with no magical trace to indicate who had killed them or who they had been. And Robards had declared them evidence of vandalism; that was the screaming match that had gotten Harry moved to the night shift. 

For the time being, this piece of evidence, this reminder of someone who was human, would linger on the table dedicated to evidence for the serial killing of Werewolves. Although not many of the Aurors referred to it that way. Because the murders were committed during the full moon, when the Werewolves were shifted, they were technically considered Beasts and therefore the crime wasn’t classified as murder. Some people were even referring to the pelts as a political statement on Shacklebolt’s attempts to repeal the Anti-Werewolf Legislation. All of it made Harry’s stomach turn. 

Val took the pelt into Robards’ office, and Harry followed behind. He didn’t say much as she gave her report of the situation, and Robards didn’t ask Harry any direct questions. They both knew better by now. 

Robards took the pelt, laid it on the table and added the necessary information to the board. Harry watched as a picture of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes showed up next to the Atrium and the Park. He watched as dates were added to the timeline, witness statements went up. It was hardly any information, not enough. There would be a meeting today, two in fact-one for each shift-where the Aurors would bounce ideas and possibilities off each other. But it would be like the previous two, no new leads, no grand ideas, no breakthrough. Harry thought bitterly, why did they even bother? 

It was full morning, nearly nine, Harry realized. If he was quick, he’d get to say goodbye to Teddy before school. So, Harry left the sad little board and went to the apparition point. He waited for his turn and tried to take some peace in the swirling black that popped him back home. Grimmauld Place looked as run down as Harry felt today, and he trudged up the steps to push open the door. 

Teddy beamed from his seat on the bottom stair inside, shoes on his feet but laces still untied. “Harry!” He squealed and knocked his toes together. But he didn’t get up from the step. 

Andromeda bustled into the entryway then, digging around in her bag and not looking until she bumped into Harry. “Oh, good morning.” 

“Good morning. How did you get him to sit still?” 

“Sticking charm,” Andromeda said darkly, and Harry had the distinct impression that Teddy had been on the run all morning. 

“I’ll try to run him down a bit this evening before dinner. But I’m afraid I’ve got to go in early tonight.” 

She looked up at him full of concern. “Did something happen?” 

Harry nodded. “But nothing for you to worry about. How about I drop the runt off at school today?” 

Andromeda gave Harry a grateful smile. “That would be wonderful. I’ll get breakfast started for you. You must be starving.” She canceled the sticking charm, and Teddy bounced up so fast he nearly tore the seat from his trousers. 

“Excellent!” Harry smiled and held out a hand. “Let’s go to school. Do you think you can skip the whole way?” 

“Yes!” Teddy shouted and ran a circle around Harry before latching onto his hand. “And I can sing while I do it!” 

Harry chose to ignore the comment about singing, but it was nice to hear his excited voice as they walked the six blocks to school. Teddy ran into the building as soon as he saw his teacher, gave her an enormous hug, then then he dashed back out again to give Harry one. Harry ruffled his hair and then gently pushed him back towards the door. It was possibly the best way to end his day, any day but especially this one. 

*

Both Robards and Jenkins were in the conference room at 8pm, when the night shift trickled in. Serial crimes were the worst, there was no telling when the criminal might strike, difficult to ascertain the victim type, and even then there was all the waiting. 

Robards started the meeting. “As some of you are aware by now, another wolf pelt was found this morning.” There was a chorus of groans, not everyone agreed it should be considered vandalism. “None of that now!” he barked. “Val and Potter took the call this morning. Why don’t you share the details with everyone?” 

All twenty-four Aurors turned to look at Harry and Val, some with interest and some with boredom. “I took the call at 6:42am this morning.” Val started, and then there was a loud knock on the door. 

Everyone turned to see Jessica, the newest receptionist, hired more for her availability to work nights than for her personality, lingering in the door. Personally, Harry was hoping she would develop some courage in the next few weeks, otherwise he was going to perpetually send Val to get his messages. 

“Sorry,” she squeaked and then coughed delicately into her hand. “But there’s a-a Mr-a Mr-It’s for Mr.-for Mr. Potter, sir.” She finally stuttered through enough words for Harry to catch the gist. 

“Someone for me,” Harry said and looked to Jenkins and Robards. 

Robards shrugged and Jenkins nodded. “Go on then, I think Val can handle this.” 

Harry took his leave. “I sent him to interrogation room six.” Jessica said softly, her head bowed and staring at her feet. 

“Thanks.” Harry awkwardly patted her shoulder to try to boost her confidence a little, but she just kind of slouched down further. 

So, sending Val at all possible opportunities was going to be the best option then. Harry quickly took the hall on the left. It would add time to his walk, but it meant he didn’t have to deal with Jessica on her way to reception. He opened the door, “Sorry about the wait--Malfoy?” 

Malfoy had been standing with his back to the door, but Harry could see his reflection in the one way mirror. There were lines around his eyes and mouth, and he looked sort of haggard. “Hello, Potter.” He turned around. 

He looked good, Harry realized, dressed in a grey suit--waistcoat, no jacket. White shirt open at the neck. His hair was cut long, along his jaw and falling into his eyes. He had an earring, and he’d filled out a bit. Not enormous, but Harry could see that his shoulders were broad and strong. Things he hadn’t noticed in the dim light of the club stood out in the harsh light of interrogation, like the pallor of his skin and the color of his eyes. In the club, Harry realized suddenly, Malfoy had been relaxed, but here he was full of tension. 

“What can I do for you?” 

Malfoy put his hands in his pocket and didn’t look Harry in the eye. “I just wanted to report someone missing is all.” 

“Oh,” Harry said. Based on the way Jessica had interrupted the meeting, he had assumed it was something bigger. Not that a missing person wasn't big enough. “I have some forms for that at my desk, if you’d care to follow me.” 

Malfoy trailed behind him out of the room, down the hall and into the large room with all the Auror cubicles. Harry and Val shared a cubicle in the back, near Robards and Jenkins offices. The path led right by the conference room, where Draco paused at the window in the door. 

Harry had already turned the final corner when he realized that Malfoy was no longer behind him. Quickly, Harry turned back and saw Malfoy at the door. All the color had drained from his face, and his chest was heaving up like he was gasping for breath. His hand was raised as if to touch the glass. 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, hurrying down the corridor to see just what had stopped Malfoy. 

He could see the evidence board with the pelt laid out on the table. “Um,” he licked his lips. “It seems I don’t need to report anyone missing. Forgive me for wasting your time, Potter.” He turned on his heel quickly. 

But Harry snatched his wrist before he could actually make an escape. “Wait. We haven’t been able to identify the victim.” 

“Victim.” Malfoy repeated and then slumped against the wall to cover his eyes with his free hand. His chest heaved hard then, and Harry could hear how he sucked in air through a nose clogged with snot. His skin went blotchy, and Malfoy pitched forward until he was crouched on the floor sobbing. 

Harry knelt down on the floor next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling Malfoy until he was crying into Harry’s chest. For long minutes they stayed like that, until Malfoy’s loud sobs settled into quiet snuffs; only then was Harry able to help him stand. “Come on.” Harry led him back to the interrogation room, stopping only at Jessica’s desk to ask for some tea and biscuits which the department kept on hand for just these kinds of moments. 

Malfoy half fell into the chair, and Harry took the seat next to him. They waited until Jessica came in with the tea. She took one look at Malfoy and then Harry and left the tea trolley without a word. Harry set the sugar and creamer on the table and then poured out two cups of black tea. He fixed his own while Malfoy swiped at his eyes and took several deep breaths. 

When Malfoy wrapped his hands around the styrofoam cup, Harry said, “Just tell me what you can.” 

Malfoy gave a harsh bark. “You’re so much better at this then you used to be. Did they make you take a class or something?” 

And then Harry remembered the last time he had come across a crying Malfoy. “Yeah, well, the department frowns on the use of unknown hexes as well as injuring civilians. So…” he drifted off. 

Malfoy raised the cup to his lips and stared at the dark liquid for a moment before taking a sip. “His name is Sawyer, Sawyer Green.” He took another sip and then put the cup down on the table. 

“How did you know him?” Harry put his own cup back on the table. 

“He’s my mate.” Draco bit his lip and looked like he might cry again, but took a shuddering breath instead. “We’ve, uh, well, I’ve known him for four years now, since the end of my probation.” 

“Do you know anyone who might want to do this to him?” 

He let out that harsh bark again. “Seriously, Potter?” He stared, and Harry shrugged. “Sawyer didn’t have personal problems like that. He got along, followed the rules. He was good.” 

Harry nodded. “Did he get any threats? Did you notice any odd behavior lately?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “No. But we all know about the other two.” 

Harry nodded again. The other two had been printed up in the papers. “How long has he been missing?” 

“Since Saturday. He came home after the club you saw us in on Friday, then went out to work on Saturday and never came back.” 

“It’s been more than three days. Is there a reason you waited so long to report him?” 

Malfoy ran his nails across the Styrofoam, scratching back and forth. “Yeah.” He pressed his lips tightly together. 

“Why?” 

“He’s a Werewolf.” 

“Did you think we wouldn’t take you seriously?” 

Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it. “No. Maybe some other Aurors, but not you.” He pulled his hands back in close to his stomach. 

“Then why?” 

“Sawyer was in a Pack. I didn’t want to go against the Pack.” 

“There was a Pack out that night, at the club.” 

Malfoy took a quick swallow of his tea. “Not the whole Pack, just a few. They--” he licked his lips. “--they had too much energy to stay cooped up inside, not that close to the full moon.” 

Harry nodded. The Aurors already knew there were Packs of Weres in London; it wasn’t surprising that Sawyer was in one. “Where did he work?” 

“Sawyer had a job as a server at a muggle restaurant in West End, Goodman.” 

“Why muggle?” 

Malfoy jerked up in surprise. “It’s not like he could get a wizarding job. He was a muggle.” 

“What?” That was news. 

“Yeah.” Malfoy nodded. “Old bitey McBite Face wasn’t too picky about who he turned, as long as they were young. There’s a few muggle Weres now.” 

No wonder the Aurors were getting calls about Weres in muggle pubs and clubs, if some of them were Muggle. “I didn’t know,” Harry said. “Who was his Pack?” 

Malfoy straightened up. “You don’t know much about Pack, do you?” 

“We know a lot about Weres,” Harry retorted. 

“But not about Pack.” Malfoy went back to scraping his nails along the cup. “I can’t tell you that. I can tell you they wouldn’t have done something like this.” 

“I need to talk to everyone in his life.” 

“Yeah, well, even if I tell you who’s in the Pack, they won’t talk to you. Not much fond of Aurors or wizards.” 

“You just said Sawyer was your Mate.” 

But Malfoy clammed up at that. “I’m not gonna talk about the Pack. I haven’t done anything wrong, you can’t keep me here. You can’t make me take veritaserum. I’m here doing you a favor, Potter. I don’t have to tell you anything.” He stood up, practically vibrating with anger. 

“You’re right!” Harry put his hands up in surrender. “You’ve given us a bigger break then we’ve had. Any chance you might look at the others? You might know them.” 

Malfoy pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Not tonight. I’ve got work.” They both stood up, and Malfoy looked towards the door. “I want you to catch him, I want you to catch whoever did this and skin him, just like he did Sawyer.” 

Harry nodded, because that was the best he could do. He couldn’t make promises, certainly not about skinning a man, but he was sure as hell going to do everything he could to bring whoever did this to justice. “Thanks for coming in, Malfoy. Is there some way I can reach you if I have more questions?” 

Malfoy paused with his hand on the door knob. “Uh, yeah, I got a mobile you can phone.” 

“What about owls?” 

“I mean, you can send one, but I lived-live in a muggle flat.” 

“Oh. well, I’ll figure something out.” Harry let him go and then practically fell back into his chair. Malfoy was Mated to a Werewolf? A male Werewolf?


	3. Maybe Some Social Lubricant to Ease All this Unpleasantness

After a few minutes, Harry went back to his desk to make a few notes on what Malfoy had said. The meeting was out, and Val was waiting for him there. 

“Something interesting?” She asked, looking up from her parchment. 

“Uh, sort of. Malfoy was able to identify the wolf. His name is Sawyer Green, a muggle turned by Fenrir Greyback.” 

“Jeeze. He did a lot of damage, didn’t he?” Val tossed her quill down and shook her head. “I swear he’s everyone's sire nowadays.” 

Harry nodded back, because the truth was nobody even knew how many people had been turned during the war, and now that he was dead there was no chance of ever finding out. The Aurors estimated somewhere around a hundred and fifty currently lived in London. “Malfoy said he was in a Pack, but clammed up when I started asking questions about that.” 

“I hate the Packs.” Val scowled. “Things were easier when it was just one Were at a time. Those Packs, we might catch one, but the rest of them scatter to the wind and the one we’ve got always stops talking before we can get anything.” 

Which just added credence to Malfoy’s statement about Harry not knowing anything about Packs. “Think there is something going on there we don’t know about?” 

“What? With Packs? No.” Val frowned. “Aurors have been dealing with Weres as long as the department’s been around, I’m pretty sure if there was something to know, we already know it.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Harry sighed. “Guess I better update Robards.” 

“You're off the hook there. Robards left already. Jenkins is in his office though. Better tell him, maybe we can get off West End for a night.” 

“You wish.” Harry smiled at her. “Our vic was a muggle, remember?” 

“Fuck,” she groaned. “I hate dealing with the Police. Why can’t they ever just give us what we need?” 

And then Harry smiled, because he’d once said the exact same thing to Hermione, and she’d launched into a thirty minute explanation of the different laws and the importance of their evolution and then the conversation devolved into an explanation of some war and something calling for independence and Harry had stopped paying attention. He’d never brought it up again. “Whatever you do, don’t mention that in front of Hermione, unless you’ve got a spare forty-five minutes and are in need of a nap.” 

“Got it!” Val chuckled as Harry stood up and made his way over to Jenkin’s office. Once, Hermione had brought Harry dinner in the office, when he’d first moved to third shift, and Val had said something about curry that had resulted in a fifteen minute lecture on spices. 

Harry poked his head in Jenkin’s office, since the door was open. “I got a lead on the Werewolves.” 

“Oh?” Jenkin’s dropped his feet from his desk to the floor. 

“An ID on the latest one, a Muggle called Sawyer Green.” 

Jenkins scrambled for parchment and a quill. “Got it, I’ll contact Constable Hannaford, see what we can find. Merlin, he’s going to crawl up my arse over this. Good work.” He finished scribbling and then looked up at Harry. “You and Val got West End again. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.” 

“Sir, wouldn’t it be a better use of our time to investigate this lead?” 

Jenkins shook his head and leaned back in his chair, legs splayed wide. “Constable Hannaford has been riding us hard about that wolf that was running through the city last month. I’m starting to chafe.” He scowled, and Harry wondered when the tangent would be done. “We need to make a presence, show the muggles we’re handling the problem. Speaking of, any idea what a long arm rifle is?” 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know? Some kind of gun? Uh, but Robards is fine with me taking lead on this case?” Time to get back on subject. Jenkin blinked. “You’re the first person to come up with an actual lead and this is the third event. Even if he isn’t, I’m not messing with something that works. If you hit a dead end, we’ll reevaluate, but for now, you’re it.” 

“Alright then.” Harry clapped his hand on the doorframe and then turned right back around to start the patrol. 

* 

It was Friday night before Jenkins heard back from Constable Hannaford. “Alright,” he started their nightly meeting as usual. “Still a normal Friday, still looking for any leads on the Were incidents, keep your ears to the ground and your eyes open. Potter and Val, my office.” 

He sent the rest of the Aurors out to their patrols, while Harry and Val followed him to his office. “I hate the fellytone,” he grumbled as he shut the door. “Alright, so, a Mr. and Mrs. Green in Chigwell reported that their son Sawyer ran away from home four years ago at the age of seventeen.” 

Which would make it reasonable for him and Malfoy to know each other. “What’s the nearest apparition point?” Harry asked. 

Jenkins nodded. “Chigwell Row, but this late in the suburbs, no need for that. Just try to keep a low profile. If it weren’t a Friday, I’d pull you from the patrol, but unfortunately, we need you too much to do that.” 

“Got it, sir.” 

“If you need anything else, catch any other leads, update me on the firewatch. Now get out.” He picked parchment up off his desk and began reading it over. 

“So, we’re off to Chigwell.” Val sighed. “I hate this part of the job. Much rather talk to a witch or wizard, so much less explaining, denying, crying. Just an fyi, Potter, last time I went to talk to muggles, I had to call the obliviators, and Jenkins sent someone else to do the talking.” Val was scowling as she stomped down the halls to the apparition point in the auror department. It was a one way point, out only for speed and security. 

“Have you been to Chigwell?” Val asked once they reached the apparition room. 

“No.” Harry sighed. 

Val grinned; she hated to be side-alonged almost as much as Harry did. “Well, let’s do this then.” She took his arm, and with a crack they reappeared in an empty car park next to a set of flats. They looked like they’d been built in the eighties and never renovated in the forty years since. “Thank Merlin they got one on the first floor.” Val shuddered a little. “Can you imagine the lift in that thing.” 

“You know, there’s a lot of muggle things that work much better than their magical counterparts,” Harry pointed out. 

“I don’t like the lifts at the ministry. If we had stairs, I’d take them every time.” Val shook her head. “Come on, best get this over with sooner than later.” Harry didn’t care much for this part of the job either, although he didn’t like it for muggles or magical people. He’d had more than enough death for this lifetime. He nodded at Val and they walked over to the door where Harry pressed the intercom button. 

It was less than a second before a tired voice came out of the staticky speaker. “Hullo?” 

“Uh, yeah, this is Detective Potter, I was hoping to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Green about their son Sawyer.” 

The intercom crackled, and then the door buzzed. Harry reached out quickly to yank it open. The inside didn’t look much better then the out, all beige walls and worn brown carpeting that did little to hide the muck inside. Val let Potter lead the way to flat 16. 

The door was already open and a man in his fifties with greying hair was looking out at them. “The Missus put the pot on,” he said, holding the door open for both of them. 

It was a small flat, with the kitchen right off the entry, a small living room, and a short hall with two bedrooms and a bath. Harry could see just about everything from the doorway. Mrs. Green was standing at the counter, fussing with a plate of biscuits on a trey while the kettle boiled. There were dirty dishes in the sink and an empty skillet on the stove. Harry had to look away, but the living room wasn’t much better. There was a pile of photo albums on the table next to a box of tissues. 

They knew. 

Somehow that made it both better and worse. Harry straightened his shoulders and took a seat on the sofa. Val stood near the window that looked out on the front street even though it was too dark to see anything. And they all waited in silence for over five minutes for Mrs. Green to finish in the kitchen and come out. 

Her cheeks and eyes were a bright red when she did. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Harry said when everyone sat down with a cup of tea. “Sawyer is dead.” 

Mrs. Green reached out and clutched at her husband’s hand, he took a deep breath and held it, they both blinked rapidly. “We know,” Mrs. Green said eventually. “Can you--can you tell us how?” 

Harry licked his lips. “We’re still investigating, but we think it happened Monday night last.” 

She brought a hand up to her mouth and took several long deep breaths while Mr. Green rubbed circles into her hand. 

“When was the last time you saw Sawyer?” 

“He was here a few weeks ago, with one of his mates. He used to come for dinner every so often, always looked so happy.” Mr. Green lifted his cup, but didn’t drink the tea. 

Harry nodded. “Did he ever mention any trouble with anyone? Anything at all?” 

Mr. Green shook his head. “No, enjoyed his job, loved living with his mates. He’s been so happy since he moved to London, happier even then before his accident.” 

“What accident?” Val asked. 

Mr. and Mrs. Green exchanged a worried look. “Well, five and a half years ago, he--he was in a mugging. Luckily some good Samaritan drove off the attacker and got him to the hospital right quick. He had a great big chunk of his leg missing that never really healed right. He was--was angry and difficult after that.” 

“Until he ran off to London?” Harry prompted. 

“Well, yes.” Mrs. Green let out a heavy breath. “He went to live with some--some others who’d been through something like him. We didn’t know that until later.” 

Both Harry and Val perked up at those words; that could only be the Pack. “Did you ever meet any of them?” 

She nodded. “Yes, Sawyer used to bring his mate, Draco, around for dinner sometimes. And of course, there was Ajax.” 

“Who’s Ajax?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice even. 

Again, Mr. and Mrs. Green looked at each other. “Well, Sawyer changed, after his accident. And one day, this boy, Ajax, came to the flat to speak with him. They talked for a long time, and Ajax told us that-that he’d make sure Sawyer was okay, make sure--make sure--” She cut herself off suddenly. 

Harry reached out and put a hand over hers. “We know about Sawyer. We know how he changed.” She nodded hastily and took her hand back. “Was Ajax like Sawyer?” 

She nodded again, unable to speak. 

“Do you know where Ajax lives? Or how to get in touch with him?” 

Mr. Green answered, “He shared a flat on Harrowby street with friends.” 

Harry stood up. “Thank you for answering our questions. We will be sure to let you know about any updates, and I am very sorry for your loss.” 

Both Mr. and Mrs. Green nodded, still holding hands, and Harry saw Mr. Green’s knuckles go a little paler. 

Val started to follow Harry, and then stopped. “I have an additional question. Did someone inform you about Sawyer before we got here? It’s only, you don’t seem surprised.” 

Mrs. Green swallowed and nodded. “Draco stopped by on Thursday.” 

Val didn’t smile, because that would have been inappropriate, but she did have a sort of accepting line to her mouth. “Thank you.” And then both she and Harry stepped back into the hall. 

When the door shut behind them, and they were out in the silent car park, Val said, “He is skirting the line interfering with the investigation.” 

“Yeah.” Harry said. 

“And if he and Sawyer were Mates, then he has to know about this Ajax person.” 

“Yeah.” Harry hunched his shoulders in. “I guess we should talk to him too.” 

“I’ll call Jenkins.” 

Harry stared at the building while Val spoke quietly to the tiny fire on her wrist. Muggle Werewolves, Draco Malfoy, pelts that couldn’t be identified, he’d worked unpleasant cases before, but this was something else. There had been a bombing on a muggle bus by a Death Eater who had escaped judgement by faking his own death, there had been the Selwyn suicide/murder over a betrothal contract, and the house elf who died in defense of an infant from a vampire. But, while those had been grisly and difficult, they hadn’t struck so close to home, not like this case. This was so close to personal. 

“Got it.” Val was saying to her wrist and then she looked up at Harry. “Malfoy has a flat on Gray Inn Road and apparently works a posh bar called Thirst.” 

“Really? That sounds like a vampire spot.” 

Val shrugged. “It’s in West End, our route actually.” 

“Guess we’d better then.” 

“Guess we’d better,” Val repeated. She offered her arm, and reluctantly, Harry took it. A loud crack later, and they arrived at their usual apparition point. 

“You said he lives on Gray Inn Road?” Harry said suddenly. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“It’s just not that far from where Teddy goes to school.” 

“How do you live that close to him and not know about it?” Val asked as they started down the road towards Thirst. 

“It’s a muggle neighborhood.” Harry scowled. Apparently Malfoy did more than just hang out in muggle places. 

They strode down the pavement in a practiced casual stride that was anything but. Harry kept his hands tucked into his coat pockets, and Val linked one arm through his. They walked this way sometimes, a cover to keep the muggles from looking too closely. It seemed especially important to Harry now, to try and blend in when they could, since he knew there were muggle Weres. 

It was still early, not much after 10pm, and so they made their way slowly towards Thirst. The bar was brightly lit when they arrived, and no line to get in. Harry paid the cover this time, made a mental note to add it to his expense report. The room was reasonably full, but not packed like Harry had come to expect from these places on a Friday night. It was also brightly lit with a moderate noise level. It looked more like a place for professional outings or sophisticated events then a wild night out on the town. 

The bar was extensive, with a big display of gin bottles at the center. From the door, Harry could see all the bartenders, not one with the bright white hair of Malfoy. “He’s not here.” Harry said to Val. 

“There’s a downstairs.” She nodded towards a staircase in the corner off to the left that spiraled downwards. 

Downstairs was much more what Harry had come to expect from these sorts of places, dimly lit with signs and spotlights of all different colors. It was tightly packed, and from the staircase Harry had trouble telling which direction to find the bar. But then one of the spotlights flashed across the crowd, and he caught a bright flash of blond. Harry tugged Val’s arm, it was too loud to hear each other, and they both made their way to the bar. It was hot, and the press of bodies made it difficult, but they did force themselves into the small openings and through the crowd. It was pure luck that a small space was open right in front of Malfoy at the bar, and Harry stepped into it quickly. 

Malfoy had been sliding something tall and electric blue across the counter, and didn’t see Harry step up until he was half turned, the smile melting off his face. “Potter, what can I get you?” He sneered. 

Harry took a moment and looked him over. His skin was sallow, which might have been the light; his eyes were sunken and red; which still might have been the light. Harry took too long to answer, and another bartender leaned over, said something to Malfoy, lips pressed close to his ear. And Malfoy reached down for two glasses and then grabbed a bottle of tequila. 

His hands shook as he poured out the shots of liquor into the glasses of ice. And that could not possibly be the light. “You went to see the Greens,” Harry shouted over the din. 

Malfoy tilted his head away and squeezed his eyes for a moment. “No need to shout, Potter. I can hear you just fine.” 

“When’s your break, we need to talk.” Harry said more quietly, but still loud. 

He closed his eyes for a moment again. “I get off at 3:30.” 

“Before then,” Harry insisted. 

“No.” Malfoy glared now, liquor spilling onto the bartop from his shaking hands. 

“Your Mate died.” Harry leaned on the counter to make his point. “I’m trying to find his killer. Do you want to be a suspect?” 

Malfoy passed the two finished drinks to the woman next to him, and then leaned across the counter himself, pressed his face in close to Harry’s. “Yeah, Sawyer’s dead. And you can’t think of a reason why I don’t want to talk about that while I’m working? Hmm?” He shoved back and turned to face the bottles behind him. 

Harry waited, watched his shoulders go up and down in several controlled movements. 

When Malfoy did turn back his voice wasn’t quite steady, but his gaze was. “I will see you, out front at 3:30, and not a minute earlier, Potter.” And then he locked eyes with a patron behind Harry who held up a bottle and two fingers. 

Harry let it go, stepped back from the bar and watched the empty space fill quickly with the next patron. Val raised her eyes in a question, Harry nodded towards the staircase. He didn’t speak until they reached the relative quiet of upstairs. “He said to come back later, after close.” 

Val nodded. “What’s the plan then?” 

This was why Val and Harry worked well together. She was the more senior of the two, having more experience as an Auror and on the night shift, and Harry respected her enough to defer in those situations. But Val also knew her limits. She was comfortable with drunken splinchings and the late night fights, good at a quick and subtle spell, knew how to keep the uninvolved out. But she hadn’t worked cases like Harry had, not the long ones that required subtle words and careful listening for things unspoken. She knew when to defer to Harry, just as he knew when to defer to her. 

“We come back.” But it was a question that bothered Harry for the five hours they spent walking through West End. It was a quiet night, and the hours passed slowly, which gave Harry plenty of time to decide on breakfast, the opportunity to pick a location, to second guess that choice, to find a different one. 

The time passed slowly, but at the end seemed to have disappeared in a blink. They were back at Thirst, Harry leaning against the wall by the door while Val looked at her nails. Malfoy came out at exactly 3:30. Harry could smell the alcohol on him, see where the sleeves of his black button up were damp. His eyes were just as red and skin just as sallow outside under the streetlamps as they had been inside. 

He met Harry’s gaze. “Well, come on then. I’m not talking about this here.” And he started down the pavement in the opposite direction Harry had planned. Malfoy stormed down four blocks to a brightly lit dinner that Harry had dismissed as too low class for Malfoy. But he was sliding into a booth in the back, away from the other customers when Harry and Val caught up to him. 

Harry and Val sat on the same side of the booth. 

It wasn’t long before a waitress came up to the table. She was painfully skinny with greying hair pulled into a severe bun. “And where’s your boyfriend tonight?” She scowled just as fiercely as Malfoy did. 

He turned to her with a bitter smile. “Dead. Murdered. This is detective Potter and--” He gestured to Val and then looked at her. “I don’t know your name.” his lips curled angrily. 

The waitress stiffened her shoulders. “What do you want?” 

“Coffee, black, full fry up.” Malfoy didn’t look at her, fixed his gaze on Harry. “You?” 

They hadn’t eaten yet, so Harry ordered the fry up and coffee too. “With milk, please.” 

Val ordered Belgian waffles and tea. 

Harry waited until the coffee and tea arrived, watched as Malfoy took a shaky sip. “We know you went to see the Greens.” 

Malfoy put his cup down, crossed his legs, draped his arm along the back of the booth. He looked away as he spoke, “I thought they should hear about Sawyer from someone who loved him.” 

Val opened her mouth to say something, probably about interfering with an investigation, but Harry nudged her leg with his. “How long were you and Sawyer together?” 

Malfoy’s frown deepened and he huffed. “You don’t care about that. You want to know about Ajax. You think by pretending to be interested in Sawyer and my relationship I will just open up, be a fount of information for you, tell you all about everything with barely a word of encouragement.” He kept his gaze fixed on the grill, watched as the cook cracked eggs and flipped bacon. 

“How do you know Ajax?” Harry asked, because Malfoy was right and maybe going straight in was the better option. 

Malfoy turned and looked at Harry then. Let his gaze roam across Harry’s face, let it dart across the short distance to Val and evaluate her too. Eventually he let out a long sigh. “Ajax is the Pack’s Alpha.” 

“What’s an alpha?” Harry asked. He knew of the term, of course, they all knew the Packs had an alpha, but this was the first time Harry had spoken to someone acquainted with an actual Pack. 

Malfoy turned back to watch the waitress carrying the tray, laden with plates. He rolled his eyes, but answered, “He’s in charge of the Pack.” 

They all paused as the food was set down on the table. Malfoy didn’t waste a moment as Harry’s plate was set down, he reached out and snatched a triangle of toast, cramming it into his mouth and getting crumbs all over his face. 

It shook Harry out of the moment, the fact that Malfoy had just stolen food from his plate, the fact that he had crumbs smattered across his upper lip and cheek. And as he stared in confusion, Malfoy tucked into his eggs, forking them into his mouth as if they might disappear at any moment. 

“Are you going to eat those?” Malfoy pointed at Harry’s eggs with his fork, and instinctively, Harry pulled his plate in close. And Malfoy laughed. 

“So, Ajax is the Alpha,” Harry said, after a few minutes of eating. “What is he like?” 

Absently, Malfoy reached up to his collarbone. He was quiet for a long moment, running his fingers across the bone to the hollow at his throat and back. “He’s hard but fair, I suppose. The Pack respects him, they’d have to, or they wouldn’t be in the Pack.” 

“Sounds like you don’t get along with him.” Harry pointed out, piece of toast in his hand. 

Malfoy reached across the table and filched a piece of bacon from Harry’s plate. “Well, I’m not exactly in the Pack.” He sneered and bit the bacon sharply. “And I have issues with authority. You may have noticed in my probation records.” 

Harry hadn’t, but Val was nodding. “If you and Ajax didn’t get along, how did that work with Sawyer?” 

“Sawyer didn’t like it, but Ajax wasn’t going to kick me out either. Bit of a stalemate most of the time.” Malfoy polished off the last of his own food, and began eyeing Harry’s again. 

Harry put his arm on the table, a physical barrier for his plates, and Malfoy grinned with all his teeth. “Why?” 

Malfoy leaned back against the bench. “Pass.” 

“You don’t get to--” Val started. 

Malfoy leaned all the way across the table. “Yes I do. I don’t have to tell you shit, and if I don’t want to tell you something, I’m not going to tell you.” His voice was a low growl, deep and guttural, a threat and a promise rolled together. 

Harry gave Val a look to get her to back off. “Walk me through the day Sawyer went missing.” 

Malfoy sat back on his seat. “We got up around 11am, the usual time, had some breakfast. Sawyer wanted to go to some shop in Soho, so we went out. Came back for a quick meal before going to work. We both work around here, so we took the tube together. He was done at 11pm, but I didn’t get done until 3:30. He wasn’t in the flat when I got there, I asked the others, but nobody had seen him.” 

“Who are the others?” 

He pressed his lips into a fine line and looked at Val. “Pass.” 

“Malfoy,” Harry sighed, tired of this all of a sudden. “We need to talk to everyone.” 

Malfoy’s eyes flicked back to Harry. He crossed his arms, but his voice was less angry when he spoke. “If you can find Ajax, I’m sure you’ll find the others. Hell, one of them may even talk to you, but I doubt it.” 

Their waitress came back. “Can you get you anything else?” 

Harry and Val shook their heads. “Thank you, Delores, it was delicious as always. My compliments to the chef.” Shockingly, Malfoy didn’t sneer, but their waitress did just before she turned and left. 

Malfoy threw some notes on the table and stood up. “If you have any other questions, Potter, give me a ring or better yet, a text. See you around.” And with that he sauntered out of the diner. 

Val rolled her eyes. “What a load of bollocks, that one.” “He used to be worse, if you believe it,” Harry pointed out. 

“Get up, I need the loo.” Val gave him a soft shove, and Harry got out of the booth. She headed towards the back, and Harry went outside for a bit of fresh air. 

Malfoy was leaning against the side of the building playing with a lighter. He watched Harry carefully as Harry walked over. “I meant what I said before.” 

“What?” Harry asked, uncertain about what he meant. 

“I want you to catch the son of a bitch that did that to Sawyer. And if I can help I will.” 

Harry wanted to call bullshit, but shoved his hands in his pockets and bit his tongue to keep the words in his mouth. After a minute he said, “You didn’t seem too willing in there.” He nodded towards the diner. 

Malfoy gave him a grin, wild and fierce and just the littlest bit alluring. Suddenly, Harry could see what he must have looked like to Sawyer, young and free and ready to live. And Harry wondered what it would be like to run the streets of West End with Malfoy instead of Val, what would it be like to ride the tube and dash in and out of little alcoves and alleys, hands never still, hearts pounding. Would Malfoy know all the little secret places, the best place for chips, the out of the way pubs? What would it be like to dance with him in the clubs, to have his hand draped possessively over Harry’s shoulder? 

“Like I said, I have a problem with authority. And I don’t like Aurors.” Malfoy cut into that line of thinking. 

“So why are you out here, talking to me?” 

Malfoy flicked the lighter closed, wrapped his hand around the blue plastic. “God knows, but I think I trust you.” He pushed himself off the wall. “You know where the flat is?” 

“Yours?” 

He laughed with his mouth closed, quiet huffs that still managed to wrinkle his eyes. His breath was warm on Harry’s neck as he said, “Oh Potter, I don’t think we’re there yet. Just because you bought me dinner doesn’t mean I’ll let you in my pants.” 

And there were little shivers on Harry’s skin, gooseflesh on his neck and down his arms that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. “You meant Ajax.” 

He leaned back and smiled. “I meant Ajax.” 

Harry frowned at his obvious pleasure in Harry’s discomfort. “I got it.” 

“He works days, at a garage. If you want to talk to him, best bet is in the evenings, if you want to talk to anyone else,” his lips curled up in consideration. “Good luck.” 

The door to the dinner opened and shut, and Harry turned to see if it was Val. When he turned back Malfoy had disappeared down the pavement.


	4. Wolfsbane, Cracked Ribs, And Other Unpleasant Encounters

Harry waited for Val two blocks from the den on Harrowby at 6:30pm. He still wasn’t sure if bringing her along was a good idea, but Jenkins had insisted for “safety” reasons. 

He fussed with his glasses, while he waited, mostly for something to do. Val dashed up to him, “Sorry! My Mum wouldn’t get off the firecall.” 

“S’okay.” Harry shrugged. “Are you ready for this?” 

“To face a Pack of Weres in their own den to talk about the murder of one of their own after having been told they hate Aurors? How could I not be ready.” She smiled at him. 

“How do you want to handle this one?” 

“Quietly. I want this one to go quietly.” He sighed. “Let’s get it over with. 

They walked the two blocks to the ten story building. “They’re on the sixth floor.” 

“Great,” Val groaned. “More lifts.” 

Harry chuckled a little, and then looked at the door. He could try the intercom, but that would just give them more time to scatter. He gave a quick look around, but people were busy on the street. “Block the view for me?” 

Val crowded in a little closer, and Harry cast a quick Alohomora. The door unlocked, and Harry pushed it open before it could lock up again. “Thanks.” 

The lift was easy enough to find, and Val only grumbled a little as they rode it up to the sixth floor. They walked around nearly the whole floor before finding the right flat, and then Harry took a deep breath before knocking on the door. 

He strained his ears trying to listen for a single noise from inside, but there was nothing. After a full minute, Harry raised his hand to knock again which was when the door cracked open to reveal a tiny sliver of a face and one brown eye. 

“Sorry to bother.” Harry gave a friendly smile. “I’m Harry Potter and I am looking for Ajax.” 

The face frowned deeply and Harry heard a growl. “Piss off.” 

The door started to shut, and Harry quickly stuck out his foot to keep it open a little longer. “I’m just here to talk about Sawyer, and I’m not leaving until I do. If need be, I can get the Super involved.” 

“Fine.” He barked out. “Just give me a minute.” The door shut, and Harry could hear scuffling inside, then a moment of quiet, and then the chain came off the door. He was the same height as Harry, but much bulkier, all muscle, and he had a scar that ran down the side of his face. He had brown eyes and brown hair, and Harry could see how people would fall in line to follow his orders. 

“You must be Ajax,” Harry said. 

Ajax crossed his arms, feet in a wide stance, still blocking the door. “You can come in, but she waits in the hall.” He nodded towards Val who visibly bristled. 

Harry nodded at her as this wasn’t the moment for a pissing contest. “Fine.” 

Ajax stepped back from the door just far enough for Harry to squeeze through, and then he slammed it shut behind Harry, slipping the chain back in place. It was a bigger flat than Harry had thought it would be, two sofas and a table large enough to seat eight. The kitchen was cluttered with dishes in the midst of being washed and the remnants of a large supper. How big was this Pack? 

Ajax watched Harry look through the flat and his eyes narrowed. “See something interesting?” There was a challenge in his voice. 

“Not terribly.” Harry made his voice casual. “So, Sawyer lived here with you?” 

“Yeah, he lived here. What of it?” 

“Did you know he’s dead?” 

He puffed up his chest, although in anger or defense Harry wasn’t sure, but Ajax didn’t say anything. 

“Night of the full moon, we think, since we found his pelt.” Harry continued. Ajax’s face went a bit red. “But I know he went missing on Saturday last.” 

“Seems like you know a lot of things. What do you want from me?” 

Harry toned down his demonstrative voice. “I just want to catch the bloke who did it. Did you see anything strange? Any people hanging around who shouldn’t have been? Did Sawyer say anything?” 

Ajax uncrossed his arms. “We didn’t notice anything, and Sawyer didn’t say anything.” 

“Nothing? No strange scents? No bits of post? Anything, no matter how small?” 

“Nothing.” Ajax shrugged his shoulders. 

“Would there be anyone else in the Pack he might have confided in?” 

Ajax’s defenses went right back up. “I’m not going to tell you anything about the Pack.” 

Harry raised his hands. “I’m not asking, I just need to know.” 

Ajax stepped forward, crowding into Harry’s space. “Nothing happens in this Pack that I don’t know about. But, if Sawyer was going to tell anyone other than me about something like that, it would have been Draco.” 

Harry leaned back and nodded. That response seemed to appease Ajax, because he stepped back out of Harry’s space. “Can I see Sawyer’s room?” Harry licked his lips nervously. 

Ajax stared him down. “You swear you’re just here because of Sawyer?” 

Harry looked him over, took in the firm stance of his legs, the tension in his shoulders, the extreme neutrality of his facial expression. People didn’t look like that unless they were trying not to express something. Ajax had been tense and combative from the beginning, but this strange neutral expression was new. It wasn’t covering up anger it was disguising fear, Harry realized. 

“I swear I am just here because of Sawyer. You and yours have nothing to fear from me.” Harry licked his lips again and did something he had never done before. “I’ll leave your name off of all of my reports. No one has to know about you.” 

Ajax was silent for a long moment, but Harry could see him rubbing his fingers along his thigh, considering Harry’s offer. Jenkins wouldn’t like it, Robards would be furious at the realization that there was an unregistered Alpha, but a lead was more important than the one Alpha who hadn’t committed any known crimes. 

“Fine.” He led Harry to the left, to the first bedroom. 

Harry looked in, the room was messy, with clothes strewn across one of the beds, a mattress shoved under another with only the corner peeking out. It was small, with one closet and two shelves hung on the walls over the beds. Harry stepped into the room, taking care not to step on any of the clothes or books on the floor. The paperbacks were well worn, pages dogeared and the spines broken and torn. Their clothes were all cheap, with uneven seams; they were inside out, wrinkled, torn. Harry looked in the closet which seemed relatively empty, only half the rail full of shirts and trousers, twenty or thirty empty hangers left behind. 

On one of the shelves, Harry spotted a pile of mail. He cast a quick impervious over his hands, and then glanced over at Ajax who was standing in the door and glaring at Harry’s wand. Harry ignored him, and picked up the pile of old mail. Most of it was nothing, a credit card bill from four years ago, postcards from his parents on holiday, some letters, but there was one envelope with no address. It felt light in Harry’s hand, as if it were empty and it was still sealed. Harry quickly opened it and poured the contents into his hands. 

“Parsley?” 

But Ajax had gone pale at the sight. “That’s not parsley.” 

Harry slid the leaves back into the envelope. “What is it?” 

“Wolfsbane leaves.” Ajax shifted his glare to the envelope. “Why would Sawyer have those? Draco never--” He cut himself off quickly. 

Harry glanced at him. “Malfoy brewed for you, didn’t he? The Wolfsbane potion for the transformations.” 

Ajax nodded, a steely look overcoming his face. “Not anymore.” He was back to rubbing his fingers along his trousers. “I think it’s time for you to leave now.” 

Harry nodded. There wasn’t much more to learn here. He and Val would stop by the restaurant where Sawyer had worked, and Harry would go to Malfoy’s flat to ask him about the wolfsbane. That could be motive, if Malfoy brewed for Sawyer’s Pack, maybe he brewed for another, maybe there was a falling out. The wolfsbane potion was fiendishly difficult, Harry remembered from Lupin and from Hermione trying to find a potioneer willing to brew for the Werewolf Support Services. 

At the door, Harry held his hand out of Ajax. “Thank you for your time.” He didn’t say anything else, just waited to see if Ajax would take it. 

For a long moment they both stood there, on opposite sides of the door, Val watching from her perch along the wall, Ajax staring between Harry’s face and his hand. And then he reached out, took it tightly and pumped up and down once, their business concluded. 

“Find anything interesting?” Val asked in the quiet of the lift. 

Harry took the envelope in both hands. “Wolfsbane leaves.” He held it out for Val to see. 

“Aren’t those poisonous?” 

“Extremely.” Harry tucked the envelope into his back pocket. “It’s one reason why potioneers won’t brew Wolfsbane, the oil from the leaves can kill a human. The flowers are what’s used in the potion, and they're toxic too, but not so much.” 

“Better get that to Jenkins then.” Val nodded towards his pocket, and Harry agreed. 

“To the restaurant after?” Harry asked. 

“Might as well,” Val said as the doors dinged open. “Get it all done and out of the way.” 

* 

Draco was expecting them. He hadn’t been exactly sure when they would arrive, wasn’t sure about Potter’s timeline, wasn’t sure how long it would take Ajax, but had known it would happen. Had prepared for it. Mentally, anyway. 

He was at the building for his flat, fussing about for the key when there was a cough. They weren’t all there, only four of the eight hidden in the shadows, and Draco took his keys out of the building door, put his bag down on the ground and slipped the keys inside. He took off his jacket and waistcoat too, no sense getting blood on them. His shirt was black, that would hide the stains. He hadn’t been expecting this particular combination, had thought it would be an all or one sort of deal. He hadn’t expected the anger rolling off of Joe and Clarence, although the growl from Florence was no surprise. She’d always hated him. 

Ajax stepped forward out of the shadows. “We have rules, Draco. You broke them, a lot of them.” The others stepped out, putting sight to what had only been scent. “You put us at risk.” 

Draco sneered. “I’m not part of the Pack, you made that abundantly clear.” And Potter was honorable, even if Ajax didn’t know that yet. 

“They hunt us down for something that was done to us! Your Aurors! They make us vulnerable, and leave us at the mercy of regular people! Who are starting to notice. What do you think will happen when the police discover that those ‘wild wolves’ are Werewolves? Every time you speak to that Auror you put us a little more at risk.” Ajax crowded in close, giving Draco nowhere to go. “It’s unacceptable.” 

“Potter isn’t interested in your secrets.” 

Ajax grabbed Draco by the front of his shirt. “He will turn on you Draco, when he has what he wants.” 

Draco smacked his hands away. “Like you?” He sneered and nodded towards the rest of the Pack. 

“You were never really one of us.” Ajax let him step away because the rest of them had circled around. There was nowhere for Draco to run. 

“No, I wasn’t.” Draco snarled. “But Sawyer was, and Sawyer was mine! And I will do what I have to. I will get revenge for what--what--” His cheeks were damp, and Draco swiped at them angrily. “Do it. Do what you came here to do.” He clenched his fists angrily but kept them locked at his side. 

Ajax grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him down and brought his knee up sharply into Draco’s stomach forcing the air out in a painful gasp. He fell to his knees and didn’t have a chance to put up a resistance. He didn’t even want to. 

* 

Harry left Val behind when he went to visit Malfoy. In truth, there wasn’t any question of bringing her, Malfoy had made that more than clear at the diner. And Harry needed answers. He went early Sunday afternoon, because he thought Malfoy would still be sleeping, and it didn’t surprise him at all when Malfoy didn’t answer the first time he buzzed on the intercom. 

He waited a moment and then buzzed again. It was still a long moment before Malfoy’s voice came over the intercom, it was scratchy, as if Harry had indeed woken him. “Hullo?” 

“Malfoy. Let me in,” Harry said. 

There was a long sigh, and then the door buzzed open. 

It was a basement studio, probably the cheapest in the whole area. Harry knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and had just enough time to notice the dirt on the door frame and knob before Malfoy pushed it open a crack. It was dark inside, but Harry could make out Malfoy as he stumbled from the door and towards the kitchen. 

Harry stepped inside, leaving the door open and waited for Malfoy to say something. He was in the refrigerator, drinking from a jar in his left hand. After draining the whole jar, he locked eyes with Harry and said in a cracking voice. “Are you going to leave the door open?” 

“Are you going to turn on the light?” Harry countered. 

And Malfoy laughed. “Oh, I’ve had a shit night, Potter.” 

“So take some hangover potion.” Harry scowled. 

Malfoy laughed until he cried, still behind the refrigerator door but clutching at his side, Harry could tell from the way his shoulders moved. He grabbed his wand off the counter and flicked the door shut, so that the only light came from the tiny high window at the other end of the room. And then he cast again, flicking on the lights and Harry got his first good look. 

“Son of a bitch, what happened to you?!” 

Malfoy shuffled out of the refrigerator and slumped into the one chair at the table. He gestured towards his face with a shaking hand, to the black eye and the swelling in his cheek that had it closed, tears leaking out of the corner. The other hand was wrapped firmly around his ribs, and he wheezed as he laughed. “What do you want, Potter?” he asked when the laughter died down. 

“What happened to you?” Harry stepped closer, tilted Malfoy’s face up to see the damage more clearly. He held his wand to the edge of the swelling, where it would be the least painful and muttered, “Episkey.” 

Malfoy let out a sigh of relief. “Can you do ribs too?” 

“You need the hospital,” Harry said softly. Most bones he could do, but ribs were difficult. 

“I’m not going.” Malfoy shuffled to standing, moving away from Harry and towards the counter. He said it softly but firmly, a quiet tone Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard from Malfoy. 

“Who did this to you?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, the one still black but the swelling significantly diminished. He could open it all the way now. “You went to see Ajax. Who do you think?” 

“Because you aren’t Pack?” Harry stepped closer. 

And Malfoy laughed again, in gasping little huffs crying at the same time. “No, you dumb fuck. Because I was.” 

“They did this to one of their own?” Harry could hear the hesitation in his own voice, and wondered vaguely if he was more upset that Ajax had beaten someone in his pack or that he hadn't realized Malfoy was a Werewolf. 

“Was, Potter. Do try to keep up. I was Pack, I’m not now.” He flailed around on the counter grabbing at bottles and jars, reading labels and smacking them back down. “Where’s the fucking dittany,” he muttered to the counter. 

Harry began sorting through the jars on the counter because that was easier then thinking. “Sit down.” Which, shockingly, Malfoy did. “You need a medical professional. You could have punctured a lung.” 

“Oh fuck you, Potter. I’m not going.” 

There was the dittany, a near empty jar by the sink. Harry opened it and scrapped the last out onto two fingers. “Lift up your shirt.” Malfoy did, his chest and stomach a mottled purple and blue, and the beginnings of an old scar over his hip. 

Harry held onto his hips, thumb rubbing gently over the scar while he smeared the remains of the dittany over his chest. Malfoy let out a sigh at the touch. “When did you get bit?” Harry asked quietly. 

“None of your fucking business.” Malfoy scowled and then hissed when Harry found the rib. “I told you, old Bitey Mcbite Face turned all kinds of people. Magical of course, muggles when he could, what difference was it if he bit the son of a disgraced Death Eater. Old Snake-Nose laughed when my father complained.” 

All the dittany was rubbed in, but Malfoy was making little soft noises, so Harry kept smoothing his fingers across all that skin. “That’s five years.” Harry huffed a laugh of his own. “You brewed the wolfsbane, that's the leverage you had to stay with the Pack.” 

Malfoy pushed his hands away, but there was no strength to him. “Piss off.” He rolled out of the chair, gasped and clutched onto the table to stay upright. 

“You need help, Malfoy.” Harry stood, but didn’t move towards him. Never corner a wounded animal, and Malfoy had always been reckless in a corner, even before this. 

“And you think you’re the one to help me. You hate me.” Malfoy hung his head, long hair falling down. 

“I don’t hate you, Malfoy. Not for a long time.” 

His shoulders shook, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was from laughter or tears. Probably both. “Maybe I hate you.” 

“Maybe,” Harry agreed. 

Malfoy raised his head. “I’m not going to St. Mungo’s, Potter.” 

Harry nodded, already thinking through the options. Andromeda didn’t have formal training, but her charms were neat and she’d done this kind of thing back when the Order of Phoenix had still been around. “Come on, I know someone else who might be able to help. A compromise.” Harry held out his hand. 

Malfoy stared at it for a long moment, so long that Harry almost put it down, then did when Malfoy hung his head down again. “I can’t stand up straight.” And Harry saw that his arms were shaking and his fingers slowly turning white. 

Quickly, Harry wrapped an arm under Malfoy’s arms, helped pull him upright and Malfoy groaned sharply. “I’m fine,” he snapped when Harry opened his mouth to ask. 

Apparition was out of the question based on the amount of pain Malfoy seemed to be in, Harry would probably do more damage and then he would have to go to St. Mungo’s. There wasn’t a floo in the flat and Harry’s still wasn’t working properly anyway. “Do you think you can walk a kilometer?” 

“Trying to kill me, Potter?” Malfoy tried to joke, but it fell flat. 

“It’s that or I apparate you to St. Mungo’s.” 

Malfoy grimaced. “I’ll walk, thanks.” 

It was a long walk to Grimmauld Place, and with each block, Harry ended up bearing more and more weight. He cast a discreet Leviosa just to take the weight off, and Malfoy was able to walk a little straighter. It helped, but Malfoy was still grey and gasping when they arrived at Grimmauld Place. 

“Where the fuck are we, Potter. Some posh muggle house?” 

Harry pressed his lips close to Malfoy’s ear. “Number 12 Grimmauld Place.” 

“Your house?” he said, now able to see the building. And then his eyes caught on the six steps up to the front door. “Fuck you and your stairs.” 

Harry laughed. “Up you get, it's not so bad.” 

Malfoy muttered a long litany of curses under his breath as they started on the first step. The door opened as they reached the third, and Teddy and Andromeda looked out at them. “Harry?” 

Malfoy looked up, his skin grey and his expression exhausted. “Hullo, Aunt.” 

Draco heard the door open, heard the locks clicking as the knob turned, and then he smelled him. He smelled him even before he could see him, the dirt under his nails, the musk of him, and there was just the faintest hint of something that reminded Draco of his mother. He thought his heart might stop as he realized just who this tiny person was, why he smelled like home, like Pack. Draco looked up at his wild tangle of black hair, at the green of his eyes, at the shape of his jaw. He could feel the tendrils of his magic as it reached out, questioning, searching, but Draco ignored them 

Instead he forced himself to look at the other person, the one who smelled much more of Mother and of home. “Hullo, Aunt.” Draco forced the words out, still gasping slightly, in pain with each breath and word. 

For a long moment they all just stood there, between the door and the stairs in some sort of strange standoff, until Potter said, “Help me get him inside.” 

And Andromeda pulled the young boy back into the house, and Potter hauled Draco up the last few steps, over the threshold and into the parlour by the front window. He kept his arm underneath Draco as he sat on the sofa and then laid down. Draco heard more than saw Potter leave the room, their words a quiet muffle in the hall. If he had wanted, Draco could have listened, but he could smell the boy in the room, too fast for Potter to have noticed. 

“What’s your name?” Draco asked, eyes closed. 

“M Teddy,” he said, voice timid and coming from the far corner. “Why do you smell like me?” 

Draco was too tired, too much in pain, for this conversation. “What do you mean?” 

“Nobody else smells like me, but you do.” His voice was still timid, but closer. 

“Surely Aunt Andromeda smells like you as she’s your grandmother.” 

“Hmm.” Draco felt a cautious touch along the length of his side, a warm hand. The tingling sense was back, and Draco did his best to ignore it. “But not like you.” 

“No.” Draco tried to focus on breathing, to push out the familiar scent and the feel of Teddy. “Not like me.” 

The door slid open, and Draco could hear Potter’s sure strong steps and Andromeda’s light quick ones. Potter went over to Teddy, greeted him in soft tones, while Andromeda knelt down next to the sofa. Draco tried to sit up, felt the stabbing pain in his chest, and fell back to the sofa. 

“Sorry, Aunt, afraid I can’t sit up on my own.” Draco coughed weakly. 

“Quiet you,” she shushed. “Let me see your chest.” Her hands were quick and light as she undid the buttons of his shirt. 

Draco closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on what Potter and Teddy were saying rather than on whatever Andromeda might say at the sight of his chest. 

“But who is he?” Teddy was demanding in an eager tone. 

Harry sighed, “His name is Draco Malfoy. His mum and your Mama--well, he’s your cousin, I suppose,” he said at the same time Andromeda pushed down a little too hard on Draco’s broken rib. 

He groaned loudly. 

“What’s a cousin?” Teddy asked. 

And Draco just knew it was coming, waved his hand in a futile attempt to get Potter’s attention, to stop him before he said anything. “A cousin is a part of your family.” 

The tingling rushed over Draco, a curious and reaching sort of of feeling that he had felt before. Felt and not understood. It floated over him, like soft touches, gentle and comforting. And though Draco knew it was a mistake, knew that he should not respond, Teddy was so young, not able to understand. If Draco rejected him, he would not know why. It was only because Draco had felt it before, had felt it and not known what it meant, hadn’t known to be wary of it. Because he had felt it and known the wonder of it, and now knew the loss, he did not reject Teddy, but reached out tentatively himself, let his own scent and magic and awareness linger on Teddy. 

“Ooh,” Teddy said slowly, seriously, and Draco dropped his arm. Damage done. “He’s family. That’s why he smells like me.” 

Draco turned his face in towards the back of the sofa to hide. He hadn’t known to be wary of that feeling until it was too late with Sawyer, until they were already Pack. And now Potter had unwittingly done that to Teddy. 

“He’s got a thing about scents,” Andromeda said by way of explanation, and Draco realized she didn’t know. Didn’t understand what her grandson was. 

He turned back towards her, looked her in the eye. “I bet he’s got mood swings too.” He said as quietly as he could. 

She gave him a stern look, but Draco didn’t reply. 

“You’ve got two broken ribs, and a whole mess of internal bleeding. How have you been treating it?” 

“Dittany, a blood replenishing potion, pain potion.” Draco rolled his head to the side. “I’ve a fractured ankle too. Maybe broken toes?” He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Potter’s face, didn’t want to see if it was pity or anger or horror or some combination of the three. Or worse, nothing. 

Andromeda stood up. “I’ve some things in the kitchen for the bruises and bleeding, and I can take care of the ankle and toes, but ribs are tricky things. Usually best left alone what with all those important organs nearby. You’ll be laid up for several weeks at best.” 

Draco shook his head. “No, got work tomorrow.” He started to sit up, and Andromeda pushed him back down. 

“Don’t even think about it,” she said in a cold voice. “I’m not fixing you up just to have you mess yourself up all over again.” 

This time Draco careened his head to watch Andromeda and Potter leave the room, he listened carefully as they argued in quiet tones over what to do with him. All the while Teddy crept closer and closer, laying his head on the sofa and looking at Draco with big, curious eyes. 

“Are you like me because we’re family?” 

Draco sighed. “No. I’m like you because a very bad man bit me. You’re like you because the very bad man bit your father.” 

“Then why are we family?” 

Draco rolled his head to the side to look Teddy in the eye; he’d changed them to be grey like Draco’s. “We’re family because your Grandma, or do you call her Mama, is my aunt, and we’re family because we choose to be.” 

Teddy’s face was so earnest and open, and Draco could remember feeling that way about the world, a long time ago. It felt like ages and ages ago. He reached out his hand and laid it on Teddy’s face. “It’s not always easy to be family, and sometimes your family doesn’t understand or judges and-and you have to find a new family. But Teddy, I’m not ever going to judge you and I am going to try very hard to understand you, and I am going to be the best family I can for you.” 

Teddy buried his face in Draco’s leg and said. “I’m gonna be family for you too. I’m gonna be the best family for you.” 

And Draco put his hand in Teddy’s hair, ran his fingers through the thick black locks, and turned his head in towards the sofa so Teddy wouldn’t see him cry. It hurt, more than his ankle and his ribs, more than that bloody mark on his arms or the scars on his chest and hip. The ties that bind. 

He stayed that way even after Andromeda came into the room and said, “Teddy, why don’t you go play catch outside with Harry, hmm?” And he stayed that way while Andromeda traced her wand along the toes of his left foot and then along his ankle. He closed his eyes and kept his face turned from her while she smoothed a cream over his chest and traced his ribs with her fingers again. 

He stayed that way as she asked, voice still cold, “Do you hurt anywhere else?” 

In fact, he squeezed his eyes tighter and tried not to think about the way his chest ached in a way no salve or spell could ever touch. “No,” he groaned out. “Thank you.” 

She paused, hands still on his chest. “You could look at me.” 

Draco tried to squeeze them tighter, to keep those tears behind his eyelids, but he couldn’t, there was no more squeezing he could do. Instead he let out a sniff and a gasp, and the tears leaked down his face. 

Andromeda sighed. “Let me help you sit up so that I can bandage those ribs for you.” 

And Draco let her ease an arm underneath him to lever him up to sitting. She slipped the shirt from his shoulders, and the scar on his hip was all the more visible. Her fingers traced along it, but she didn’t say anything, instead carefully wrapped the bandage around his ribs, tight but not too tight. 

“I’ll get a room ready for you,” she said, sitting back on her heels and looking him over. 

Draco turned away. “Don’t.” 

“If you think Harry is going to let you leave, you’re a bigger idiot than I imagined.” She put her hands on the sofa, the warmth radiating into Draco, and stood up. “We don’t have any bedrooms on this floor. I’ll put you in one near Harry.” 

Draco covered his face with his hands. His ankle was better and his toes, he could breathe easier, his chest was lighter, but every part of him hurt, ached with loss and with new awareness.


	5. Once Upon A Time in Rome

Harry watched Malfoy pick at his food at dinner that evening. Teddy was babbling, perhaps having picked up on the somber mood and trying to compensate. It was strange to see Malfoy so quiet, no complaints or snarky comments on the décor or the quality of the food. He just sat there, painfully straight back, pushing peas around his plate with his fork. 

Teddy kept looking between Malfoy and Harry, between Malfoy and Andromeda, between Malfoy and his plate, his face full of uncertainty. And when Malfoy dropped his fork with a clatter and said, “I’m afraid I’m too tired to enjoy this meal. Would it be permissible for me to retire to a room for the evening?” Teddy put his fork down too. 

“I’m tired too,” he said. 

And both Andromeda and Harry stared at Teddy. 

“Really?” Harry asked, the first to recover. 

“Yes.” Teddy climbed off his chair and walked his plate into the kitchen while both Andromeda and Harry continued to stare in shock. He’d never taken his plate into the kitchen before. He went to stand next to Malfoy and said, “You can sleep in my room.” 

Malfoy closed his eyes and appeared to be suppressing a groan or a whine or something. “That is very kind of you to offer, but I believe Aunt Andromeda has prepared a room for me.” 

Teddy stuck out his lower lip, and Harry mentally prepared for an argument. “Is it upstairs from mine?” He asked Andromeda. 

She nodded. “Yes, next to Harry.” 

Teddy nodded solemnly. “Okay.” And Harry wondered just why that was okay. But Teddy was taking Malfoy’s hand in his own. “I can show you.” 

Malfoy looked at Harry in something that resembled terror. 

“You need a bath, mister.” Harry took pity on Malfoy. “I will show Malfoy to his room while you get ready.” 

But Teddy only clung closer, his nails digging little crescents into Malfoy’s arm. “I want him.” 

Malfoy put a hand over Teddy’s. “You can call me Draco.” 

Teddy nodded at Draco, and then stared angrily at Harry. “I want Draco.” 

Malfoy closed his eyes again, and this time Harry was pretty sure it was resignation all over his face. “I don’t mind, Potter.” 

“Okay.” Harry stood up. He led them up to the second floor bath, started the water and got out the shampoo and soap. And then he left them alone in favor of a whiskey sour which would be found in the downstairs parlor. 

When Harry came back upstairs, drink in hand, to see how the bath was going, he could hear Malfoy’s voice. 

“Have you ever heard the story of Remus and Romulus?” There was soft splashing. 

“No.” Teddy replied. 

Malfoy’s voice was soft, considered, as he started on the tale. “In the land that is now Rome, two brothers were raised in the wild. They were twins, the same age, and spent their days running wild as their father was dead and their mother too busy with the running of the farm to worry about them. They spent their days hunting for wild figs and cherries to gorge upon.” 

Harry sat down on the top stair to listen to the story. 

“One day, when they were both old enough, Remus and Romulus swore an oath to be forever loyal to each other for they were brothers forged in the wilderness. A city grew in the land they had always considered their own as they became young men. Young Remus fell in love with a beautiful witch who was tied to the land, and Romulus danced at their wedding. But there are those who claim that Romulus loved her just as Remus did, and never forgave his brother for being the man her affections fell upon.”’ 

He paused in the telling, and Harry found himself leaning closer to the door so as not to miss a word. 

“Eventually, war came to the city, because it was prosperous and other kings were jealous. One day, while they were building a great wall, Romulus saw his opportunity and shut Remus out of the city. He was slaughtered by the enemy. When the beautiful Nymphadora heard what had happened to her husband, she knew what Romulus had done because he had made no secret of his affections. But she waited for her revenge, for already she knew she was pregnant.” 

Here Malfoy paused again in the telling. Perhaps he was busy washing Teddy’s hair or helping him to rinse the soap from his body, or even just adding a bit of the dramatic to his story. 

“On the night her son was born, she lay tired, dying, in the birthing bed, she cursed Romulus for his cruel actions. It took the last of her strength, and the beautiful Nymphadora left her young son an orphan, the heir to a prosperous city. But with her dying breath, she had her revenge, and for every full moon, Romulus was cursed to walk this earth as a wolf, forever in quest of the family he failed.” 

“That’s a very sad story.” Teddy told Malfoy. 

“Ah, but because the young Edward was raised in the knowledge of what his mother did, of why she cursed his uncle to such a life, he grew up to be a great ruler. He had compassion for his enemies and love for his people and the city prospered under his rule.” 

“What does compassion mean?” Teddy asked. 

“Ah,” Malfoy sighed, and Harry could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Compassion means being nice even when you want to be mean.” 

“Like when Nicholas steals my blocks.” 

And even though Malfoy couldn’t possibly know who Nicholas was or why he might be stealing Teddy’s blocks, Malfoy said, “Exactly. We must be nice to those who are mean to us because people aren’t mean because they want to be. They are mean because they don’t know there is a better way.” 

And then Malfoy was steering Teddy out of the bath wrapped in a fluffy towel. He locked eyes with Harry when they stepped out. “You didn’t give me any pajamas.” As if Harry were judging him for letting Teddy into the hall in only a towel. 

“They are tucked underneath his pillow.” Harry explained as they walked the few steps to Teddy’s room. 

Harry picked out a book while Malfoy helped Teddy into his pajamas. Teddy crawled into the middle of the small bed, and Harry curled in next to him, holding the book like a secret between the two of them. Malfoy ambled towards the door, his shoulders hunched just slightly, and Harry wondered if he was in a lot of pain. 

But this was Harry’s time with Teddy, and he wasn’t going to squander it by worrying about Malfoy. So Harry opened the book and began to read in a quiet voice. 

“Wait!” Teddy slapped his hand over the words. “Draco! You have to hear the story too. It’s important to read a story before bed. It helps you sleep.” And then he was patting the space next to him instantly. 

Malfoy froze at the door. “I had a story. I told you one in the bath.” 

“But Harry is going to read this one.” Teddy patted the bed again. “It’s important.” 

Malfoy turned around then and looked at Harry, and he looked just as horrified as Harry felt. “I think this is supposed to be special time for you and-and Harry.” He stuttered over Harry’s name, and Harry realized that it was probably the first time Malfoy had ever called him Harry. 

“But you’re family too.” Teddy was not about to let this go, and when he got stubborn it was nearly impossible to change his mind. 

“Just sit down, Malfoy. It won’t be that long.” 

He nodded stiffly, and then sat down on the end of the bed. 

“No,” Teddy said, “here.” He pointed to the space next to him. 

Malfoy sighed softly and then moved farther up the bed. He laid down on his side next to Teddy, and Teddy pulled the book onto his lap so that Malfoy would be able to see the pictures too. In his normal, low pitched voice, Harry read the first page of Guess How Much I Love You, and Teddy pointed out the big rabbit and the little rabbit while Malfoy huffed softly. 

Normally, Teddy’s fingers were busy on the pages, pointing out letters from school and talking about the leaves, trying to climb out of bed and demonstrate his own hopping skills. But not tonight, tonight he laid still in the bed, fingers tracing the pages because he was never completely still, but he wasn’t loud or laughing or demanding a third retelling. At the end of the book, he was still awake, but eyes half lidded and his fingers were running through his hair, self-soothing. 

Harry dropped a kiss to Teddy’s forehead, and his eyes opened a little more. He smiled at Harry and then rolled onto his side, facing Malfoy, who had fallen asleep sometime during the story. Teddy lifted his head up as high as he could, and kissed Malfoy’s forehead too, then snuggled down against his chest, and closed his eyes. 

Instinctively, Malfoy brought an arm up, protectively, over Teddy, his warm knuckles brushing softly against Harry's thigh. Harry followed the movement with his eyes, tracing down his long fingers, up the soft blue of his sleeve, jumping from his shoulder to his face. Why did people always look so much more open in sleep? What was it about the slow breaths and closed eyes that made him look lost? 

Harry put a hand on Teddy’s side, next to but definitely not touching Malfoy’s hand. His hair looked flat, like it needed a wash, but his skin looked better, that pale tone that argued how close to passing out Malfoy had been all day. It was strange to see him with his shoulders relaxed, and his fingers curled over Teddy, in this space that Harry had never shared with anyone, not even Andromeda came into the room while Harry was reading. 

Maybe it was the dim light, but Harry suddenly thought of Malfoy in the club, with his head thrown back and his leg thrust between Sawyer’s. It was a different sort of relaxed, a different sort of openness, but there were so few people Harry had seen those same states. He and Ginny had gone clubbing a few times, back when Harry had more free time during Auror training and before she accepted an offer with the HolyHead Harpies. She was probably the only other one Harry had seen with her head thrown back, long hair shaking to the off beat of the club and clumped up on the pillow where she’d scrapped the tangled mess from the back of her neck to sleep. 

Harry reached across the bed with his toes to bump against Malfoy’s good ankle, and then he watched Malfoy’s eyes flutter open. For a moment, his expression was still soft as his eyes focused on Teddy, but then he pinched them closed tightly before looking at Harry. 

“Come on,” Harry kept his voice pitched low so as not to disturb Teddy. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” He climbed off the bed and then waited. 

It was harder for Malfoy to detangle himself as Teddy had grabbed his shirt, and pushed his leg over one of Malfoy’s. And it was with surprising patience, that Harry watched Malfoy slowly uncurl his fingers and carefully ease his leg out of the bed. But he paused before actually getting out of the bed, “He won’t wake, will he?” 

Harry shook his head, and Malfoy got up. They walked in silence up the stairs, and Harry was weirdly aware of the heat rolling off Malfoy, of the way his shoes were so much quieter on the wooden steps, of the stiff way he held himself. But mostly, Harry was aware that it would be just the two of them on the third floor. 

“That one.” Harry pointed at the second door, which was open all the way. 

Malfoy paused in front of the first one though. “This one is yours.” He said it like there was an unspoken question that Harry couldn’t understand, like he wanted to object or complain or something else entirely. 

“That one’s mine.” Harry confirmed, and Malfoy nodded just once before disappearing into the room for him. 

When the door swung shut, Harry let out a breath and unclenched the fists he hadn’t known he had made. And then he went back downstairs, because Andromeda had made treacle tart for dessert that none of them had eaten, because the floo was still broken and he’d given up on anyone coming out to fix it, because a cup of tea seemed like an excellent idea. 

But mostly, because downstairs was as far away as Harry could get from Malfoy and his scars and the questions Harry wanted to ask that didn’t have anything to do with the case. Because downstairs he could close the door to the parlor and not think about his long hair and his earring and the way he was wearing worn clothes. And he wouldn’t have to see the long lines of his legs and the challenge in his eyes and the way his hands curved over precious things. 

* 

It was mid afternoon before Malfoy came out of the room. Harry had not been awake much longer, having set an alarm for that very reason. He lingered in the kitchen doorway while Harry stirred sugar and milk into his tea, a plate of scrambled eggs on the table in front of him. For a moment neither of them spoke. 

“I can make you some eggs, if you like,” Harry offered, gesturing to the skillet still on the burner and the eggs on the counter. 

Malfoy shook his head. “No thank you.” He stayed in the doorway. 

“Would you care for some tea? I made a pot.” Harry gestured to the tea pot on the table. 

Malfoy nodded stiffly, but didn’t move. 

Harry got up and found a plain mug in the cabinets, put it on the table and then set about eating his eggs. It was like watching a wild animal, and it felt so odd to think of Malfoy that way. He surveyed the room cautiously, as if Andromeda might pop out of the cabinets at any moment. His eyes scanned over the cheery yellow paint, over the butcher block counters, over the red checked table cloth. They lingered on the patterned backsplash that matched the tile on the floor, on the skillet on the stove, on the empty mug for tea Harry had left out. 

When Malfoy finally did decide to move, he walked with sure, long strides to the table. “Where’s Teddy?” 

“Andromeda always takes him to the park at this time. He has a lot of energy.” Harry picked up his own cup and took a sip. 

Malfoy took his tea black, and he drank it standing up by the door to the back garden. He was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, but they looked less wrinkled if not quite fresh. It was weird to see him drink the tea too. In Hogwarts, he had eaten leisurely, as if it were something to be enjoyed and savored. But here, he drank the entire mug in just a few long pulls, as if he were too hungry to wait. Harry looked away then; he didn’t want to feel any sympathy for Malfoy. He wanted to go back to not thinking about him at all. 

“Do you have time today to come to the ministry? I want to see if you recognize the other victims.” 

“Sure.” Malfoy padded softly back to the table and poured another cup which he then drank still standing. 

Harry finished his eggs and looked up, Malfoy was looking at his plate. “I’ve got to shower, but there’s eggs on the counter if you want to make your own.” Harry nodded at the package. He stood stretched up, and then locked eyes with Malfoy again. 

It was an intense gaze, full of things Harry was sure he didn’t understand. They stood that way for a moment before Malfoy broke off to look at the corner. Harry took the opportunity to leave, but then turned to look back. Malfoy was turning on the burner, lighting the gas and adjusting the flame before putting down the skillet. Harry shook his head and quickly moved away before any of those thoughts of Malfoy leaning over the stove could coalesce into something more. 

It was only after Harry had started on the stair that he realized Malfoy had been barefoot. And that just seemed indecent. 

When he came back downstairs thirty minutes later, Malfoy was wiping down the counters, the dishes already cleaned up and put away. He had on shoes. “Are you ready?” 

Malfoy wrung the last of the water out of the dishcloth. “Yes.” 

“We’ll apparate,” Harry said as they approached the front door. 

Malfoy’s head jerked up. “Why can’t we floo?” 

Harry glared darkly at the closed parlor door. “It’s broken.” And then he pushed open the front door. They stepped out onto the stoop, Harry took Malfoy by the arm, and they disappeared with a loud crack. 

After a single moment of disorientation, Malfoy took the Atrium by storm, leaving Harry behind. He moved through the crowd like he was born for it, slipping into spaces that hadn’t existed a moment before, twisting his shoulders and sliding into impossibly small gaps without brushing a stranger. 

The Atrium was always crowded at this time of day, people trying to leave early, others coming in to pay fines or drop off paperwork. There were those headed for probation appointments (more and more of those since the end of the war) and those applying for apparition licenses. Harried parents dragging small children with errant creatures on leashes for registration and veterinary appointments on level four. There were even people carrying broomsticks headed to or from the department of Magical Games and Sports to request a pitch reservation. 

Some of them stopped to look at Malfoy. Harry could see pointed fingers and heard whispers, but for the most part they left Malfoy alone. And it was only a matter of minutes before he was waiting for Harry by the lifts, finger tapping incessantly against his thigh. There was no need to call the lift, but Harry pressed the two button once inside. He also ended up pressing buttons four, six, and seven, as people crowded in around them and it became impossible for anyone else to reach the button panel. 

Harry stopped at Josephine’s desk at the entrance to the department. She had worked in the department for nearly twenty years, even during that disastrous year Voldemort had been in charge. Nothing phased her professional tone, which Harry admired. “Mr. Potter, how is the night shift treating you?” she asked with a frown, because Josephine didn’t smile no matter how she felt about the person in front of her desk. 

“Oh,” Harry waved a hand dismissively. “Surviving. Could you escort Mr. Malfoy to an available room?” 

“Of course, Mr. Potter. Will you be needing anything else?” She stood. 

Harry looked over at Malfoy, trying to decide if they might need the tea tray. Malfoy was still tapping away on his thigh and looking slowly through the entryway. It took a single moment to realize that Malfoy’s nose was flared, that he was smelling the room more than looking at it. 

“Uh, no, thank you.” Harry took off in the other direction to the Evidence room. 

John was the clerk on duty, and he asked after Teddy as soon as Harry stepped up to the counter. 

“He’s doing well, loving school.” He leaned casually on the counter. “Can I have all three of the pelts? As well as 3 Identification forms?” 

“Got a lead, have you?” John raised an eyebrow. “Never did believe those were normal wolf pelts. Gives me the creeps to see them, with their heads and teeth, savage.” 

“Hmm,” Harry said noncommittally. This wasn’t the time or the place for an argument on Beasts vs Beings, but Harry still had to force his face to a smooth expression. 

“I hate full moons. I make Katie stay in for every single one. Don’t want her out roaming the streets.” He plopped the plastic tote on the counter, all three pelts thrown in willy-nilly. “Here you are. Good luck.” 

“Thanks.” Harry signed the evidence release form and hefted the tote underneath his arm. It was heavy with more than just the weight of the fur, and Harry briefly considered carefully rearranging them before taking the container into the interrogation room. 

He passed by Josephine’s desk where she was settling herself back into her chair. “Room 5, Mr. Potter.” 

“Thank you, Josephine.” Harry gave her a wave. 

Dawn, the other day receptionist, leaned over her desk. “Are those the--” 

Harry shifted the tote to his other side and picked up the pace. Emmerson, Hughs, and Michaels all started to say something in the hall as Harry made his way to interrogation room five. “What are you doing with those?” 

“Hey, did you catch a lead?” 

“Woah, Potter, Robards know you have those?” 

Harry just pushed past them with a wave of his free hand and was grateful when he arrived at the room with Malfoy. He shut the door firmly, turning on the occupied light, and then turned to face Malfoy who was looking pale again. Most people did under these lights, but Harry paused. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Malfoy gave one jerk of a nod, and Harry placed the tote gently on the table. “May I?” Malfoy asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before lifting the first pelt from the tote. He lifted it carefully, with his hands gently cupped around the head. It stretched out almost six feet and covered nearly the full length of the table. Malfoy ran his hands gently across the grey fur, along what would have been the sides and then starting at the top of the head and all the way down to the tail. He leaned down at the head, pressed his forehead down to the wolf’s forehead and said, “I am sorry, my brother.” And then he straightened. “I don’t know this one.” 

Harry hesitated, these moments were often deeply personal for the families of victims and there were policies meant to offer respect to the dead. But these dead had not been offered that same respect, and Harry didn’t want to infringe on them any more than had already been done. 

He was saved by Malfoy, who carefully folded up the pelt, resting the head on top, and placing it next to the tote. And Harry realized he didn’t even know if the victim was male or female. 

The second pelt was much smaller, less than four feet, and a beautiful russet color with a strange mark of darker patches on the back. Malfoy went through the same pattern, carefully lifting it from the tote, gently arranging and caressing the fur, but his hands shook as he came across the dark spots, five near perfect circles like a flower. 

He sat down in a chair close to the head and ran his fingers through the fur as he spoke. “Daisy. Her name is Daisy, I think.” 

“You’re not sure?” 

Malfoy shook his head, eyes still locked on her. “I only met her once, and never when she was shifted.” He paused. “She asked about my Mark, asked if I carried it with me into the shift. Daisy had a birthmark on her back,” his hands found the circles, “of a flower. Her parents named her Daisy after it.” 

He stood and pressed their foreheads together again, eyes closed for a long moment. Harry didn’t move from his spot on the other side of the table, didn’t want to interrupt. 

“If she was reported missing, you’ll be able to find a record. She was ten, when she was bit, never went to Hogwarts, never got a wand, but she had magic.” And Malfoy carefully folded her up and placed her next to the first. His hands trailed along the tote slowly. 

“I can give you a minute, if you like.” It was procedure for a body, to give the family a moment to grieve. 

Malfoy didn’t speak, but nodded once, slowly. Harry didn’t say anything as he left the room. It was against policy to leave anyone alone with evidence, so Harry stepped into the adjoining room, to watch through the spelled wall. But he left the sound off, he could give Malfoy that privacy. It felt right. 

Sawyer was grey, like the first, but smaller, darker. He was leaner, Harry could tell from the amount of table he could see. Malfoy smoothed him out, but didn’t run his fingers along the fur as he had the others. Instead, he pulled a chair around towards the head and fell into it, his head landing on the table buried along the neck, other hand reaching over to touch the snout. Maybe he spoke, maybe he cried, Harry had no way of telling from his angle. But Malfoy stayed there, laying on the table, hands and fingers moving gently but never very far, for ages. 

Emmerson popped his head into the room. He had apparently decided to grow a beard in the time Harry had been gone. “Robards is going to kill you if he finds out you left Draco Malfoy alone with evidence.” 

Harry shrugged. “He’s the one who identified the first one, his Mate, Sawyer.” 

“Ah, so he’s the lead on this case.” Emmerson nodded watching. “Mate you say?” 

Because there was no mistaking that Malfoy was a man grieving. 

“That’s what he told me last week.” 

“Does he know the others?” 

“Oh fuck,” Harry looked at the smaller pelt on the table. “One, merlin, only fifteen. Malfoy said she ran away when she got bit.” 

Emmerson nodded. “I swear, half our missing persons are kids that got bit. Parents were half out of their mind with worry their child would get hurt and the other half worried they’d be the one doing the hurting. And the purebloods, they don’t even report them missing. That first year Hogwarts was open after all that mess, McGonagall was the one to report them.” 

“And we put them in boxes in Evidence like they aren’t even human. And we debate whether they should be classified as Beasts or Beings and treat crimes against them as vandalism.” Harry stepped up to the glass and looked at the slope of Malfoy’s shoulders and the way his fingers moved through the fur. “Like they weren’t loved.” 

Emmerson clapped him on the shoulder. “Like I said, don’t let Robards know you did that.” And then he was stepping out of the room. 

Malfoy sat up and began to fold Sawyer up just as neatly as the other two, hands moving perhaps a bit slower but just as surely. He put them reverently back into the tote, lips brushing against their foreheads as he did. And Harry went quietly back into the room where he didn’t sit, but waited for Malfoy to break the silence. 

“What will happen to them?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Sawyer will probably be returned to his parents. But I don’t know about the other two.” He didn’t say they weren’t being treated as bodies, Malfoy didn’t need to know that. 

“If no one else will claim them, I will.” Malfoy reached out and touched the container. “They should go to someone-to someone--” He turned away and stormed towards the door without finishing his sentence, and Harry let him go. 

He tucked the tote carefully back under his arm and returned it to evidence, where John was waiting. At first Harry thought he would say something about the way the pelts had been folded, but then he looked at Harry’s face and said nothing. 

Malfoy was leaning against the wall with arms crossed, waiting by the lifts under the dubious looks of Josephine and Dawn. He didn’t say anything as Harry got closer, just straightened up and punched the button for the lift with a hard smack of his hand. 

The Atrium had cleared up slightly, being after 5pm now, and Harry was able to see Hermione near the Werewolf Support Services sign she must have already set up. He’d forgotten that she had another community forum planned for the evening. 

“Hey,” Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s elbow. “I need to stop over there.” He pointed across the hall. 

Malfoy visibly blanched. 

“You know, this might be a good thing. Hermione has a lot of ideas about legislation for Werewolves and--” 

“I’m not going in there, Potter.” Malfoy barked out, jerking his elbow out of Harry’s grasp. 

“Will you just listen a minute?” Harry reached out again. 

And Malfoy shoved him away. “The fuck is wrong with you Potter? Huh? I’m not fucking going in there!” 

He took several steps away, and Harry ran to catch up, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling. “Hey, she has some good ideas. But we can’t get anyone to come to the forums. But you can talk to her. With your help we could make a difference.” 

Malfoy had stopped trying to get away. He turned around, pressed his face into Harry and hissed, “Yeah, great idea. Why don’t I just go in there, huh? What do you think all these people here are going to think if I go in there?” 

Harry refused to step back. “That you care about Werewolf rights.” 

And then Malfoy’s hand was on Harry’s wrist, yanking it, holding his hand firmly against his left forearm. “No Potter. That’s not what they're going to think if anyone goes in there, and it’s definitely not what they’ll think if I go in there. ” 

Abruptly, he let go, and Harry realized just where--just what--his hand had been on. “Malfoy!” Harry shouted. 

“Fuck off, Potter!” And Malfoy melted into the crowd, ducking his head down, so Harry couldn’t even follow his progress to the doors. 

He stood there for a moment and thought about what Malfoy had said, and then he looked over at where Hermione was waiting by the door looking so hopelessly earnest that someone--anyone--might stop and talk to her. She smiled and stood straight and nervously twisted her hands around each other. 

Because Malfoy was right; no one was ever going into the conference room.


	6. Chapter 6: New Moon But with a “The”

Draco still wasn’t really sleeping. The first two nights after Grimmauld Place (after Teddy, but Draco tried not to think about it that way) had been okay, he’d caught a few hours in bits and spurts throughout the day. But by Friday, he was struggling to get forty minutes in one stretch. He had thrown off the blankets, changed the sheets, cast cooling charms, stripped off all his clothes, but nothing helped the oppressive heat that hung over him and had nothing to do with temperature. 

He threw himself off the bed in defeat and then sat at the table where he spent fifteen minutes unlocking his phone and looking at the wallpaper picture of Sawyer. It didn’t hurt quite as badly, hadn’t since Sunday night, since Teddy. Draco tossed his phone on the table and buried his head in his hands. He was so fucked. 

And that was when there was a knock at the door. 

Draco jerked up and sniffed, and then buried his head in his hands again. Only a second knock roused him from the chair. “Just a minute!” He shouted, letting anger and tiredness color his tone, and Draco plucked his pants from the floor. 

After pulling them up, he yanked open the door, didn’t acknowledge Teddy who was standing there solemnly, hands held stiffly at his sides. Draco went back to searching for his clothes, which were tangled up with the bedding and strewn all over the floor. He had his arm down the sleeve of a jumper when he realized Teddy hadn’t come in yet. “Well, are you going to stand in the door all afternoon?” 

He crossed carefully over the threshold and shut the door behind him. “Is this where you live?” 

Draco paused, one arm still in the sleeve and in the process of pulling the shirt on. “I suppose.” It was hard to say that he lived here, hard to admit that truth. 

“Are you coming home?” 

Draco closed his eyes and thought of home, of curling up, warm and surrounded by Sawyer, but even as he held that image close to his mind, it shifted to Draco curled around Teddy in his small bed in his small room with Potter’s voice soft and low. It was the moon, he knew that. It was the moon that was preventing him from sleeping, that brought Teddy to his doorstep, that made him feel too hot and itchy in the tiny flat. 

“Where’s Potter?” Draco asked instead of answering. 

“Harry and Mama are at home. I asked if you were coming home and they said you were already there, but you aren’t.” 

Draco nodded and fished his trousers out of the blanket. “They don’t really understand what you mean sometimes, do they.” He pulled the trousers on roughly, the seam on the waistband, already worn, now tore in his haste and frustration. He wasn’t working tonight; it didn’t matter if they were torn. Draco did up the zip and button and then turned to Teddy. 

Teddy scowled wonderfully. “They understand.” 

Draco knelt down in front of him, took Teddy’s hands in his, and Teddy squeezed with more strength then a six year old should have. “It’s the moon, you know, it’s going to be all gone on Sunday. That’s why you feel like this, itchy and tired and wanting to be near your family.” 

“You’re family,” Teddy insisted, his eyes beaming out their need and pulling at Draco’s heart. “You said so.” 

Draco closed his eyes, tucked his forehead against Teddy’s. “I did. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and tried to find the words to explain it to someone who likely couldn’t understand. “I don’t know that I can be with you as much as you or I want. It doesn’t mean that I’m not family, and it doesn’t--it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be with you. It just means that I can’t.” 

“But we’re family. Family has to be together.” 

“I know.” Draco stood up. He was going to have to talk to Potter, going to have to explain, but first he needed to get Teddy back. “Let me find my shoes, and I’ll take you home.” 

Teddy nodded and let go of Draco’s hands. His shoes were by the door, all three pairs. He had a sturdy pair of nice black shoes for work that were extremely comfortable, a pair of trainers for when he wasn’t working, and a pair of dragon leather boots that Draco had taken from the Manor when he left. They were his favorite, and he only wore them for special occasions now. For a moment, Draco considered putting them on, but he didn’t need to feel special now, he needed to feel grounded. So he put on the trainers. 

Teddy held his hand tightly as they walked the kilometer back to Grimmauld Place. “How do you find me?” Draco asked, because it was a long way. 

“I could smell you at school. It was just a little, but yesterday I could smell you.” He shrugged. “Mama says I have a good nose.” 

Draco reached around and tweaked it. “You don’t have a good nose, you have an excellent nose. Never let anyone tell you different.” 

As they walked, Teddy pointed out different sights, his school, some flowers, the park Andromeda took him to in the afternoon. And Draco listened carefully, replied with the appropriate level of interest, smiled and asked questions. By the time they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Teddy was bubbly and happy with a wide smile splitting the bottom of his face. And Draco felt better too, Teddy’s touch and his attention as soothing a balm as the dittany Draco had finally stopped applying to his wounds. 

Right up until the moment they arrived at Grimmauld Place, and Draco saw the door slam open, heard Potter inside shouting at Andromeda, “I’m going to check the park!” 

Teddy let go of Draco’s hand and opened the front gate. “I found him!” He was so proud of himself. 

For Draco it was like slow motion, Teddy running forward, the words catching Potter’s attention, Potter turning to see him, the gate clattering against the lock. All the tension went out of Potter’s shoulders when his eyes set on Teddy, his eyes closed in a moment of relief, he heaved a huge sigh. 

And then Teddy’s words reached his brain, and his gaze flickered over to Draco. At first it was shock, and Draco sniffed and smelled the broiling anger steaming off of him. Potter took the six steps in two leaps, grabbed Teddy by the shoulders and said angrily, “Get in the house. We’ve been worried about you!” 

Teddy hesitated, confused, and he looked back at Draco for reassurance. Potter’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and he steered Teddy towards the door. Draco nodded, but he wasn’t sure if Teddy could see, hoped his scent in the air gave him the reassurance he needed. 

And then Potter was at the gate and things were moving at normal pace again. “What the fuck, Malfoy? I let you into my home and you think that gives you an open invitation?!” he shouted. 

Dimly, Draco heard the front door shut. “I--” 

“No! You don’t get to come here and take advantage of Teddy! He’s a child! He doesn’t know any better!” Potter was screaming now, legs pressed tight against his side of the wall. 

The nerves that Draco had been keeping carefully at bay since Monday snapped. “Fuck you, Potter! You don’t know shit from shinola! Don’t talk to me like this is all my fault! You--” 

“Don’t you dare try to make this about me! You tried to kidnap Teddy!” He leaned across to scream closer at Draco. 

And Draco didn’t back down from the challenge. This was the street, and Potter was not his Alpha! “I did no such thing, you half-wit! He just showed up at my flat! Snuck into the fucking building!” 

“You’re lying!” Potter grabbed Draco by the shirt. 

Draco let him haul him in closer, so that only the stone wall was between them, jabbing painfully into thighs and knees. “Why the fuck would I lie?” he snarled back. Head and shoulders twitching to fight. 

“He couldn’t possibly have found your flat!” Harry’s voice was still loud, but had a sort of desperate edge to it now. 

Draco pushed his face in closer, so their noses touched. “Sniffed me out, didn’t he? Got a good nose on him, doesn’t he?” 

“He couldn’t possibly have smelled you!” 

Draco reached up and grabbed Potter by the shirt, bared his teeth, and said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about him.” And he shoved Potter away. 

For a moment Potter flailed his arms to keep from falling, and then he was back at the wall. But Draco had already stepped out of reach. “And you know so much? You spent one night in my home and you think you're an expert!” 

Draco snarled again, low and warning, from the back of his throat. He charged the wall, leaned over and grabbed Potter by the shoulders. “I know things about him you don’t! I know he’s been crawling into bed with Aunt Andromeda the last two nights, and he probably pitches a godforsaken fit every time you leave the house. A nightmare at school for his teachers, tetchy and fighting with the other students.” His voice was low, a growl just between the two of them. 

And based on the way Potter’s cheeks went pale, Draco knew he was right. “I know why,” Draco said and shoved Harry back. “And I know it’s worse this month than any before it.” 

“You can’t know that,” Potter said, but he was calmer, the words quieter, no longer biting. 

“Potter,” Draco whined, just a little. “I could smell it on him even before he opened that door on Sunday, and the new moon this weekend. You think I don’t know?” His words were soft now too. 

“But he’s not--” Harry trailed off, looking back at the house where Teddy was looking out the front window. 

“He’s half, and I can smell that too. Maybe he’s never shifted, maybe he’ll never shift, but I can smell him, Potter, and he smells like me.” 

“But why did he go to you?” 

Draco gave Potter a sympathetic look. “It’s the new moon, the wolf in him is looking for his Pack--his family.” 

“But you’re not family. Andromeda and I are family.” Potter flipped back to Draco, eyes narrowed in anger. 

“I am to him.” Draco tried to say it kindly, submissively even. 

Potter’s eyes darted down, thinking and for a moment he said nothing. “You did this to him. He was fine before you showed up and now he thinks you’re family! Whatever it is you did, undo it!” he hissed, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, finger pointing. 

“Oh hell no!” Draco pushed Potter back. “I am not taking responsibility for what you did!” 

“I did? You think I did this to him? You’re the one who’s the wolf. I couldn’t possibly do this to him!” 

And Draco huffed and sneered, “Yeah? You think? And who’s the one who called me family. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. You did.” 

“What?!” Harry practically screeched, chest heaving and throwing his arms out to the side. 

“You said, this is Draco Malfoy, your cousin. A cousin is part of your family.” Now Draco was doing that finger pointing thing with his one finger crooked. A bad habit he’d picked up from Stewart. 

“That couldn’t possibly--” 

And Draco flipped around, angry and frustrated, shoved his hands in his pockets and felt the lining tear more. “God, you don’t know anything, do you? You help with Werewolf Services, and you live with one, and still you don’t know anything!” 

“I know about Werewolves!” Harry insisted. 

“Maybe.” Draco laughed cruelly. “But you don’t know about Pack.” He glanced up and saw Teddy at the window still, a little mue of a frown on his face, fingers on the glass. 

“Fuck,” but Draco said it quietly, gently. “This is all just fucked.” 

“Explain it to me.” Potter said, but his voice was quieter too. 

Draco sighed up at the clouds, finger pulling at the tear in his pocket. “It’s like this right, we can smell it on someone, like pheromones or something, a compatibility or a-an awareness. And you can sorta reach out and accept it, or reject it.” Draco looked down and scuffed his trainer along the pavement. “He didn’t know he was doing it, when you called me family. And I--god, I couldn’t reject a little boy, not when he wouldn’t understand. It’s-it’s awful, to be rejected like that.” 

And Draco thought of Sawyer that day, out in the crowd. Draco had been at the Ministry for probation, and couldn’t--his head all a mess with anger and loneliness, feeling trapped. And he’d gone outside rather than to the floos, and he’d smelled him in the crowd. He’d been thinking about what it was like at the Manor surrounded by his parents and all those awful memories. And then it wafted over, that beautiful, warm scent, like chocolate. Their eyes had met through the crowd, and it was like Teddy, but more tentative, gentle and sort of confused. But they’d both accepted before they’d known, circled through the crowd until they’d met. And Draco had stuck out his hand, “Hello, Draco Malfoy. You?” 

“So now what?” Potter asked, leaning his hands against the wall. 

Draco laughed again. “Fuck if I know. I didn’t--I didn’t want it to be like this.” 

“We’re going to have to get along, for his sake,” Potter said, looking down at the stone and then hauling himself upright. He stuck out his hand. “I’m willing to give it a go, if you are.” 

Seeing that hand, Draco was caught up in another memory, on a train this time and a different offer of friendship. He looked Potter in the eye. “I-I’m not good with authority. I don’t-I don’t know if I can--” He trailed off, because he couldn’t say that he would take orders from Potter like a good member of the Pack, and he couldn’t say that he wouldn’t. Not this close to the new moon, not this closer to the Pack he was still craving. And he didn’t want to share that with Potter, that weakness. 

“We’ve got to try, haven’t we? Otherwise he’s just going to keep running to your place, and with my luck, he’s going to find you at work one night. God, he wouldn’t be afraid of a club at all.” 

Draco hesitated for a moment longer, and then clasped his hand tightly. “Okay. I can try.” 

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about anyway.” Potter opened the gate. “Why don’t you come in, we’ll take Teddy out into the garden where we can talk.” 

Draco followed Potter into the house where Teddy was bouncing in the entryway. He latched on to Draco’s hand and pulled him towards the back door when Potter suggested it. It was smaller than Draco was expecting, but still large enough for one energetic boy to run, with several trees (one which was good for climbing), and a shed. There was a patio with a small table and three chairs. 

Potter took a seat and gestured to the one opposite which Draco took without hesitation. He sat at the edge of the chair, half facing the garden where Teddy was chasing a butterfly. “Andromeda will probably be out with tea in a few minutes. We usually take tea around now out here, if the weather is good,” Potter explained. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Draco pressed his hands together between his knees. 

“When I was at Ajax’s, I found something in Sawyer’s room, an envelope of dried wolfsbane leaves.” 

Draco sucked in a breath. It was like being punched in the gut all over again. When was he going to stop having these moments? “I thought he threw that out,” he said darkly, looking at the dirty grout between the bricks of the patio. 

“Why did Sawyer have it?” 

“God.” Draco leaned back in his chair and looked out at Teddy laughing in the yard. “You don’t ask easy questions, do you Potter. Christ.” He exhaled, and then looked Potter in the eye. “Lots of us have bad stories about the first time we shifted, mostly, we don’t talk about it. But Sawyer, he struggled with it more than the rest of us. He asked me for the leaves and I gave them to him. He swore he threw them out though, at least I thought he had.” 

“Why would he want wolfsbane leaves? Those will kill a Werewolf.” 

Draco nodded. “Yeah, he-uh, during his first shift, he mauled his girlfriend. They were ex’s but recent, and he still thought they were going to get back together. It took him a long time to come to terms with that, and even after he still didn’t want to get close to non-Weres. Ajax was very pleased when Sawyer got his job at the restaurant, took everyone out to the club to celebrate and paid for all the drinks.” He crossed his arms. 

“Did he have depression?” 

“Yeah, lots of us have got all kinds of problems like that.” Draco licked his lips. “Can we not talk about this. I know-it’s probably important for the case, but I just--” shivers ran up his spine. He looked at Teddy and tried not to think about Sawyer. “It’s hard.” 

“Yeah, we can talk about Sawyer later.” 

Draco nodded more to himself then to Harry, and watched Teddy in the grass hopping up and down. His eyes were soft as he tracked Teddy’s movements up and down like a frog. His feet crushing the grass and tiny violets 

“Do you have to work tonight?” Potter asked instead. 

Draco shook his head. “No, but tomorrow. I usually request the new moon off, the whole Pack usually tries to be together.” 

“It’s Sunday, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll be home that day.” 

“That will be good for Teddy.” Draco never stopped watching him. He crossed one leg over his knee and angled his body away from Potter, more towards Teddy, towards safety. “I didn’t mean to imply that I knew more about him then you.” 

Potter sighed loudly. “You know, he and Andromeda moved in because he’s such a handful. He was always getting into cupboards and drawers and throwing things around or eating them. He was in St. Mungo’s four times in one year for accidental ingestion. It just got to be too much, and I do what I can, but it’s hard with me working full time and nights at that.” 

Draco turned to look at him again, at the sag in his posture and the way he dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. “You know there isn’t anyone else like him. I don’t know if there’s never been, but right now, he’s the only half Were in all of London, probably England.” 

“I never think of him that way. To me, he’s just Teddy.” 

Draco turned back to the yard. Teddy was rolling through the grass now, rubbing dirt into his clothes and waving his arms and legs in the air. “He is. He’s just a Were too.” 

They both watched him in not uncomfortable silence until Andromeda arrived with the tea service, and Teddy came running to the table at the smell of biscuits. He hopped on one leg as he dribbled crumbs excitedly and told all of them about the imaginary pixie in the Elm tree. 

Andromeda was very quiet during the tea, shooting angry looks at Draco, and confused ones at Potter. Draco tried not to let it bother him, but it felt so much like Florence, that he couldn’t quite. When she got up to take the dirty dishes inside, Draco took a risk. “I don’t want this to be like it was with Ajax.” 

“Oh?” Potter asked, trying very hard not to look interested. 

“Yes.” Draco closed his eyes. “Sawyer was my Pack, and I tried to follow Ajax’s leadership, but I wasn’t ever really one of them. It was hard for Sawyer to have a divided Pack, and I don’t want to do that to Teddy.” 

“Oh.” 

Draco scowled at Potter. “I don’t want your pity, you know. I’m not here for that, or to assuage some Gryffindor sense of right and wrong or whatever stupid thing you’re thinking. I’m just here for Teddy” 

Potter smiled then, the first genuine smile he had probably ever given Draco. “I never thought any of that.” 

* 

Over the next two days, Harry watched Malfoy. He watched Malfoy linger in doorways eyes carefully lowered until Teddy pulled him into the room with exasperation. He watched Malfoy walk sleepily down the stairs dressed in just a pair of loose joggers as Teddy babbled about how important it was to eat breakfast. Malfoy didn’t hide his Dark Mark from Teddy or Harry, but when Teddy pulled him into the kitchen where Andromeda was frying bacon, Harry watched him carefully tuck his left arm behind his back and make a comment about needing a shirt. 

Harry thought it would bother him, the casual way he moved through the house, as if he hadn’t been part of something horrible. But it didn’t. 

He stopped Malfoy on the stairs, “It doesn’t bother you at all, to have that out around Teddy?” He wanted to sound calm, curious, but it mostly came out accusatory. 

Malfoy’s eyes went narrow and dark, and he traced the lines of the snake with his other hand. “I’m hated for all kinds of reasons, Potter. Why would any one bother me?” 

He moved down the stairs, and Harry let him go, caught up in the way his back flexed and his shoulders moved as he stepped down and down and down. It wasn’t until after he disappeared around the corner, that Harry realized Malfoy still thought he was one of those people who hated him. 

Harry heard things too. He heard Malfoy complain about not having a microwave, and Andromeda made some sort of approving noise as they both carried dinner into the dinning room. Malfoy was always very attentive to Andromeda, listening carefully when she chose to speak, helping clear the table without asking, inquiring after her evening. Andromeda didn’t hide her animosity or the long considered looks, but her demeanor changed a little after dinner one evening 

Because he was on the other side of the door, watching Teddy in the back garden, he couldn’t hear what was exchanged between the two of them as they cleared and washed the dishes. But the tone was low, and they talked for a long time. Eventually, Andromeda called Teddy in for his bath, and Malfoy took him upstairs. She stood in the doorway and watched the sun set, while Harry tried to think of something to say. 

“When I married Edward, I didn’t think I would ever be back in this house again, and now I’ve been back for three years.” She straightened her back. “I didn’t think I’d ever see my sisters either, and now I’ve met my nephew.” 

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but then, Harry wasn’t sure Andromeda would give anyone that kind of praise. 

During the day, Harry could hear Malfoy pacing restlessly through the house when Teddy was occupied with a playdate at the park. He might have been able to walk through the house silently, but in those fits, his feet echoed as he traipsed up and down the stairs, trudged through the hall, and fussed about in the kitchen. It was a subdued version of what Teddy did, galloping between Harry and Andromeda as if he were a rubber ball they were tossing back and forth. It was hard to accept that Malfoy might know something about Teddy that Harry didn’t, and impossible to deny during those long hours when Teddy was gone. 

* 

Sunday was the new moon, and both Teddy and Malfoy woke late before picking at their respective breakfasts. Before, Harry and Andromeda had always wondered if Teddy were getting sick. Since he never shifted, they had never considered the phases of the moon might impact him. 

Later, Harry found them in the front parlour, curled together on the sofa and surrounded by books, crayons, and lots of paper. Malfoy was pointing to something on one of the drawings, speaking softly in his ear, head tilted. They both looked up at the sound of Harry’s steps. 

Harry started to turn away, not wanting to interrupt this intimate moment between the two of them, but then Teddy made a low whining sort of noise. And Malfoy said, “Come sit with us, Potter.” 

They both scooted over to make room for Harry on Teddy’s other side. Harry sat down and gave them both a good look, Malfoy was dressed in just the joggers and Teddy had stripped off his own shirt and thrown it across the floor. No one would guess they were related, with Teddy’s dark curls and stocky childish build while Malfoy was pale and blond and slender. The light from outside glinted off Malfoy’s hair and his skin looked ethereal and smooth and warm. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” he asked, not sure who he was asking. 

“Draco’s not wearing a shirt,” Teddy said petulantly. 

Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away. “I’m hot.” 

Harry looked over his chest, tried to focus on looking for injuries, but all the bruises had faded to nothing but smooth, smooth skin, with a fine trail of hair that disappeared into the joggers and made Harry think of where that trail might lead. “I thought Weres were supposed to be all hairy.” He asked, to cover the staring. 

“Piss off, Potter.” He scowled and looked away. 

And they were both saved by Teddy’s excited proclamation that he was going to grow hair on his chest too! 

“Yes, you are, sprog.” Harry ruffled his hair. “But not for a few years yet.” 

And then Teddy showed Harry each and every one of the drawings they had made over the afternoon, pointing out which were his and which were Malfoy’s (as if Harry could not tell). Every time Teddy mentioned Malfoy, Harry’s would glance up, sometimes at Malfoy’s face, sometimes at his chest, sometimes his arm. It was instinctive, and he tried not to think about it too much, or about the way Malfoy would flinch or scoot or move his legs. 

They stayed in that domestic scene until Andromeda called them for dinner. It was good timing because Teddy was starting to fidget, kicking his feet into both Harry and Malfoy’s shins. He climbed off the sofa, rolled on the floor until he smacked into the wall, and then launched himself at Harry, crying loudly into his shoulder. Malfoy rubbed his bare shoulder from where Teddy had accidently kicked him, his other arm wrapped tightly around his waist. 

And then Harry saw that while Teddy was a constant whirl of motion, grabbing books out of Harry’s hands and hurling them across the floor, kicking his legs up in the air, flinging his hands about and smacking everyone in the face, Malfoy only got more and more still. 

Everyone was relieved when Andromeda announced dinner and dragged Teddy off to wash his hands. 

Malfoy and Harry stood at the same time, Harry’s hand brushing against Malfoy’s arm, a bright burst of heat across his fingers and hand. “Merlin, you weren’t kidding. Malfoy, are you sick?” 

Malfoy startled. “No, it’s normal. I’m always this warm at the new moon and the full moon.” 

Harry reached out and touched his arm on purpose, and Malfoy sucked in air through his mouth and held it. He was like a furnace, radiating enough heat to warm the whole room. Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to curl around in winter? “How is that normal?” 

Malfoy stepped away from him, closer to the door and wrapped his arms around himself again. “You should see me shifted.” And then he disappeared out the door, and Harry heard the first step creak as he went upstairs, probably for a shirt. 

When Malfoy returned, he was dressed in trousers and the button down from yesterday that Andromeda had washed earlier. The top two buttons were undone and he was still barefoot, and Harry liked it, the casual elegance of it. He looked approachable and slightly mussed. 

He watched as Malfoy took the last available seat, next to Teddy. Andromeda brought all the food out to the table, a chicken roast with potatoes, salad, and mixed vegetables. It was so strange to see him sit there, so calm and still next to excited Teddy who piled food on his plate as soon as he could reach it. Malfoy waited, patiently for Harry to pass each bowl or plate and took a modest serving. 

After all weekend of good behavior, Harry felt like he should have been expecting it. “Are you working tomorrow night, Malfoy?” Harry asked after everyone got settled at the table and started to eat. 

“His name is Draco.” Teddy growled rudely. 

“Yes.” Malfoy forked his vegetables carefully into his mouth and ignored the way Teddy’s elbow banged into him. “I’ll need to be there in the afternoon to prep the bar. I’ll need to go back to my flat beforehand.” 

“No!” 

“Please sit down and eat, Teddy,” Andromeda said patiently. 

“I’m off tomorrow, usually on Mondays, so that will be fine.” Harry bit into his chicken. “When do you think you’ll go back to your flat more permanently?” 

“Wednesday, I think,” Malfoy said slowly. He put down his fork, hands disappearing into his lap. 

Teddy was wiggling in his chair, spilling food on the table. “No. Draco lives here now.” 

“Please eat, Teddy. We can talk about this later,” Harry said and then looked at Andromeda. “I can try to fix the floo tomorrow, unless you’ve found someone else to come out and look at it.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve spoken to every one I can find, but I’ll keep looking.” 

Teddy turned to Draco and pulled on his sleeve. “You live here now,” he insisted loudly. 

“Teddy, we’ve told you to eat.” 

Malfoy’s shoulders hunched inwards as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

“No! Draco lives here now!” Teddy shouted, startling everyone. Andromeda’s fork clattered onto her plate. 

But that was nothing compared to what Malfoy did at the racket. He slammed his left arm against Teddy’s chest, forcing him against the back of the chair, and with his other hand he yanked Teddy’s plate out of reach. And then Malfoy stared, unblinking, at him. “You’re done, Teddy. Go to your room.” He snarled, lips curled back and his whole body still, coiled tension ready to spring. 

“But I’m still hungry!” Teddy pushed futilely at Draco’s arm. He was biting his lip and trying to stare Malfoy down. 

“You didn’t do as you were told, now go to your room.” He maintained the glare and kept his arm up, locked and holding until finally Teddy stopped fighting, looked down, and tilted his head away slightly. Only then, did Malfoy lower his arm. “Take your plate to the kitchen.” 

Teddy sniffed, tears gathering in his eyes, and nodded. 

Harry waited, half in horror at Malfoy’s behavior, until Teddy was out of sight. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy?! He is a little boy!” he hissed angrily. 

“A little boy who was misbehaving.” Malfoy leaned across the table, pushing into Harry’s face. 

“You said it’s the moon.” 

“That doesn’t excuse his behavior. You are his Alpha, he has to respect what you say!” 

“You don’t have the right to give him orders! You will not treat him like he’s some runt in a litter!” 

Malfoy shoved his plate across the table at Harry. “You are not my Alpha, and I will not follow your orders. You didn’t handle him, so I did. It’s that simple.” 

“By shoving him and taking away his food?!” 

“If you don’t like what I did, then you handle him next time.” Malfoy stormed away from the table. 

Harry waited until he heard stomping on the stairs that ended on the second floor before following quietly after. From the end of the hall he could hear quiet words. The door to Teddy’s room was open, and Harry crept closer until he could make out the words. 

“Do you understand, Teddy?” There was a moment of silence, and Harry could hear the rustling of blankets. “Potter and Aunt Andromeda want what’s best for you. It’s their job to make sure that you are healthy, and happy, and safe, and that means you have to listen when they tell you to do something.” 

“And, you, I have to listen when you tell me things too.” Teddy sniffed. 

Malfoy’s voice was even quieter when he spoke. “I’m not your Alpha, Teddy. Potter is. It’s his rules you have to follow. I know--I know that it’s confusing because Potter isn’t my Alpha. It would be easier for you if he was because then we would all be Pack. And I’m sorry for that. Promise me that you are going to listen to Potter from now on.” 

“I promise.” The words were teary and nearly unintelligible. “But I don’t want you to leave.” 

“I know. And I promise I will be here when you need me. I’m going to stay until you start to feel better, and I will be back for the full moon. And I’ll try to come and see you in between. If you feel like you need to see me, then you tell Aunt Andromeda or Potter, and they will help you. My flat isn’t a good place for you. It’s better if I see you here.” 

That was the last that Harry could hear. He waited halfway down the hall until Teddy and Malfoy re-emerged. Malfoy stood by the door as Teddy ran down the hall and caught Harry’s legs in a big hug, face pressed tightly to his stomach. “I’m sorry, Harry.” 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, and said. “I love you, Teddy.” 

When he looked up, Malfoy had his arms and ankles crossed and was leaning against the door frame. He wasn’t smiling or frowning, just watching, mouth closed and eyes unreadable, and Harry wondered just what he was thinking.


	7. Hasn’t Anyone Ever Told You the Whole Smelling People Thing Is A Little Gross?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're half way!

Draco woke up on Wednesday morning and promptly stumbled towards the toilet in his flat where he spent fifteen minutes dry heaving. After rinsing the taste of bile from his mouth, he shuffled to the kitchen counter for the crackers he had left out for just this reason. Between the rolling in his stomach and the pounding in his head, Draco considered crawling back into bed. But he was hot, and had spent the last hour tossing and turning. 

For a brief moment he entertained dark and jealous thoughts of Ajax and his Pack, but it had been like this there too. It had been like this for Ajax, and that thought caused a pang of sympathy. 

Draco threw back a glass of water, and then two more, before laying his head down on the cool counter and waiting for the worst of the symptoms to pass. When he could stand upright, Draco fixed himself a plate of toast and bacon which wasn’t anywhere near as good as Aunt Andromeda made but was better than plain toast. 

And then he went back to bed, because that is what happened when a Were took wolfsbane. They felt like shit, like they were being poisoned, which is what wolfsbane was. As Draco lay in bed, for the first time ever, he let himself be angry at Sawyer, for being dead, for leaving him alone again, for having been part of Ajax’s Pack and never needing to take that damned wolfsbane. 

Life was just not fair, he thought as he curled onto his left side. He had one last thought to hope he didn’t sick-up all over the bed again, and then he fell asleep until it was time to see Teddy. 

In some ways, Teddy was easier to be around than Sawyer had been. Where Sawyer occasionally fell into a sulk that might last for days on end, Teddy’s sulks were almost always overcome simply by walking inside or outside. And while Sawyer had understood why he and Draco couldn’t always be together, there were no erections to be carefully managed or ignored by turn. 

On the other side, Sawyer did not ask nearly as many questions. 

“Why does your tea smell so awful?” Teddy asked as soon as Draco walked in the front door. 

“It’s not tea, it’s potion, to keep me safe during the full moon on Saturday.” Draco took a sip. 

Teddy rocked back and forth on his heals as he spoke. “Saturday is my birthday. Are you going to be here?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you going to bring your smelly tea?” He glared at the To Go cup. 

“I drink my potion every day the week before the full moon, so yes.” Draco took a sip, there wasn’t much left to drink. 

“Are you going to make me drink it?” 

“No.” Draco leaned around Teddy to see if there was another adult who might rescue him from the doorway. 

“What about Harry? Does he have to drink it with you?” 

“No.” No adult in sight. 

“What about Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron and baby Rosie? Will they have to drink it.” 

Draco took a deep breath. “No one at your party except me will have to drink the tea.” 

“Oh good, because it smells so bad I think it might make people sick. Does it make you sick?” 

“A little.” Draco smiled and clutched his mug. 

“Then why do you drink it?” 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I don’t have an Alpha to keep me safe during the full moon. Can I please come farther into the house than the entryway? I’d like to say hello to Aunt Andromeda eventually.” 

“She’s making good tea and biscuits in the kitchen.” Teddy led the way down the hall, and Draco let out a grateful sigh before following him. 

They had tea and biscuits in the back garden while Teddy alternately ran and crammed things in his mouth, sometimes things Draco didn’t think were entirely appropriate. 

“Don’t eat grass!” he shouted at Teddy for a third time. 

“If you can get him to stop eating it, I will be impressed,” Aunt Andromeda said over the rim of her cup. “He’s been doing that since he had first discovered grass.” 

“Isn’t it bad for him?” 

She shrugged. “Not as long as he doesn’t eat too much of it.” She finished her drink, the biscuits having long since disappeared, and began to gather the dishes. 

Draco started to help her. 

“Don’t you dare.” She smacked his hand. “You sit right there and enjoy the sunshine before you go into work. It’s been a while, but I remember what that potion was like for Remus.” 

It was the first time she had ever mentioned her son-in-law, and Draco was curious and ashamed for a moment. But then his stomach rolled a little, and he had to concentrate on the fresh air and the breeze through the leaves and wait for it to settle. It was peaceful in the garden, and the more time Draco spent out there, the more he liked it. He liked watching Teddy impale sticks in the dirt and then try to attach leaves to them like tiny flags, and he liked seeing the tiny purple flowers and the shade from the trees. There were places in London to find these things, but they didn’t seem quite so wild, not that this garden was wild, but it wasn’t the perfect manicure he saw so often in the city. 

Eventually, Teddy came running back up to him. “I want to play with my blocks now.” he barely stopped to speak before racing into the house. 

Draco followed more sedately, having been revived by the black tea and the air. Inside, Andromeda was working in the kitchen, and he could hear Teddy stomping down the hall and into his room. And then he heard the front door. 

“That must be Potter,” Draco said, and then decided to go and say hello. It was odd for Potter to be awake so early, and Draco had assumed that the reason he hadn’t seen him today was because he’d still been asleep. 

Teddy was thundering down the steps, and Draco could hear Andromeda putting down dishes before following him towards the entryway. He caught the scent as the door shut, wafting it down the hall, and unconsciously Draco paused. It was musky, heady, mixed with something a bit spicy and a bit like wind--like cold wind high up, not like when it gusted through the city. 

“You’ve been with Aunt Ginny, haven’t you!” Teddy named the scent, and Draco’s stomach clenched and rolled and he thought he might sick up in the hall. Because now that he knew what the scent was, he understood the musk as well. He dug his fingers into his palms and held his breath, grinding his teeth. It wasn’t just nausea rolling through him. 

“Excuse me, Aunt,” he mumbled and pushed around her, back towards the kitchen, where he hoped the sink was empty. 

It was, and Draco heaved up the entirety of the tea service. He could still smell it in the kitchen, not as strongly, almost as if the scent was stuck in his nose. Why should he care if Potter had been having sex with Ginny Weasley? The entire Wizarding World knew they were going to get married eventually, when they were both ready to settle down and squeeze out a few babies of their own. There were articles in the Prophet about it when the news was slow. 

But still the scent lingered, and his chest ached, and Draco rested his head on the edge of the metal sink to cool his overheated skin. He breathed deep and tried to calm the torrent of emotions before he did something stupid. He thought of Teddy--of his hair changing from black to white to electric blue, and the anger ebbed away. And then Draco thought of Sawyer. 

Sawyer wasn’t perfect. He kept dried wolfsbane in his room in order to keep his options open, and he wasn’t interested in Draco the way Draco was interested in him but he put his hands all over him anyway. He could be fickle, prone to bouts of depression that kept him in the flat for days on end, and he could never be all of what Draco needed. And Draco had known that, had known it wasn’t fair to expect that from one person. He had accepted that some of his needs would never be met, and he had been content with that, happy even sometimes. 

So what if that flat had never been all that welcoming, it had still been better than the studio Draco kept. So what if Draco had never been able to follow Ajax, Ajax hadn’t made requests as abominable as his father. He’d put aside ideas of happiness in exchange for a life that was better than the Manor. He didn’t need love and sex and a home as long as he had a Pack, Teddy now. 

Draco watched the water circle the drain. It had only been three weeks, if that! There was no way he could possibly feel better, happier, here in this house than he had in four years with Sawyer, he told himself firmly, straightened up from the sink, grabbing a dish towel and putting it under cold water. What he had with Sawyer, those realities were reasonable expectations with Teddy. 

He couldn’t hope for more than that, no matter how kind Andromeda was or how comfortable he felt in the house. Those hopes and needs weren’t ever going to be fulfilled. And certainly not from Potter! Potter was never going to be the one to hand Draco a cool cloth when the wolfsbane made him sick, and Potter wasn’t going to go clubbing with him when he couldn’t sit still inside for one second longer. And Potter wasn’t going to sit next to him at meals and hold his hand, or wrap his arm around Draco’s waist, or press their foreheads together. Or let Draco do any of those things to him. 

He scrubbed his face with the wet towel. And if Potter wasn’t going to do any of those things, he certainly wasn’t going to have sex with Draco. No matter that sometimes Draco could smell interest on him, no matter that he had more then a passing interest in sex with Potter. 

It shouldn’t hurt that Harry had gone out and slept with someone else. 

It was selfish. 

And he could hear them coming down the hall now. 

Draco ran the tap again, patted his face and neck with the towel and breathed in deep through his mouth. 

“Yeah, she’s got a few weeks off, and she said she’d be here for Teddy’s birthday,” Harry was saying as they walked into the kitchen. 

Draco tucked himself as close as he could into the corner by the sink. 

“That’s nice.” Aunt Andromeda smiled. “You always seem happier when she’s in town.” 

Harry frowned, and Draco tried not to notice. “Well, it’s only for a few weeks, and then she has a series of games across Eastern Europe. She said she’ll be gone for two months. Oh, hello Malfoy, I didn’t realize you were going to be here today.” 

Draco gave him a tight smile. “Just for a few hours, before work.” 

“Oh.” Harry frowned again. 

And Draco could feel Andromeda looking at him. “Sorry, I’m just--” Draco squeezed his hand as he breathed again. “A little under the weather today.” Harry was standing between him and the door, and Draco wasn’t sure if he could get closer without sicking up again. He looked at Aunt Andromeda for help, and she still had that moue of a frown on her face. 

“Well, I’m just going to grab a shower before dinner.” He pecked Andromeda on the cheek and gave Draco a wave. 

Draco waited until he could hear him on the second floor before letting out his breath and inhaling again. 

“That seemed like more than just being ‘under the weather.’” Aunt Andromeda crossed her arms. 

“It was just the smell is all,” Draco said to the floor. 

“I’ve seen you look at him, you know.” She picked up a pot and set it in the sink to fill with water. 

Draco said nothing, just tried to edge around her, closer to the door. 

She turned off the tap and moved the pot to the stove. “And I’ve seen him looking at you too.” 

His head snapped up at that. She couldn’t possibly be suggesting something, could she? “He’s not interested in me.” 

She shrugged. “He might be. I’ve seen him interested in men before, you know.” 

“That doesn’t mean he’s interested in me.” Draco was rooted in the corner. 

“It doesn’t mean he’s not.” Andromeda added salt to the pot and set it to boil. 

Draco scowled at her. 

“It’s okay to have hopes you know. Maybe it won’t work between you and Harry, but you deserve something that makes you happy. What do you want from your life, Draco?” 

“Nothing.” Draco scowled harder. 

“Nothing?” She turned and faced him, one hand on a hip that jutted out to the side. “You are allowed to want things, you know, to have goals and ambitions.” 

“Ha!” Draco scoffed now, crossing his own arms. “Ambition is what got me into this mess. Everything good in my life has been the result of luck, not ambition.” He spat out the words. “And luck is a fickle mistress.” 

“Well,” she opened a cupboard for pasta and let it smack shut with a heavy sound. “As long as you are living your life, that’s all the matters. Are you still staying for dinner?” 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut but relaxed his shoulders in resignation. “It would disappoint Teddy if I left early.” 

“Oh darling,” she put down the spoon, crossed the room, and enveloped Draco in an overwhelming hug. “It’s okay to take some time to adjust too. Teddy will be disappointed, but you’ll be back tomorrow.” 

Draco tucked his head into her shoulder and nodded. It was the first time in weeks, that someone other than Teddy had hugged him. “Thank you. I think I will stay though.” 

* 

Harry went into work in an excellent mood, only to have that crash down shortly after arriving. 

“Potter!” Jenkins called from the front of the room. “You’re out tonight. Val’s called in sick on account of her mum.” Harry groaned, no partner meant automatic desk work. He’d be working on reports and bookings all night long, and nothing made him more exhausted than boredom. 

“The rest of you, full moon is Saturday, which means all the usual stuff plus Weres out in force. Use caution and remember, we have holding rooms especially for them, and the right to detain through the moon. Also!” he shouted as the Aurors started to get up. “The vandal is still at large.” His cheek twitched on the word vandal, but that was what Robards had chosen, and that’s what they were going with. “Maybe scouting new locations, looking for a victim, either way, I want to hear about anything suspicious. Got it?” 

There was a round of half-hearted “yes sir” and every one but Harry filed out of the room. 

Jenkins caught Harry’s eye, and nodded for him to follow. “I don’t like it, Potter. I don’t like any of it. Do you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“I’m down a pair tonight and Saturday, thanks to your little request off.” 

“In my defense sir, I made that request while I was still on days.” 

“Don’t care.” They stepped into his office and Jenkins snatched his coffee cup (a half litre monstrosity) that he gulped down. “I don’t like this business with the Weres. We have a crime half the department thinks isn’t a crime at all, the Weres all are itchin’ for a fight over it, and the one Auror I can count on to actually work the case well is out twice this week. I don’t like it at all, Potter.” 

Harry was not about to apologize for taking time off for Teddy’s birthday, especially now that he knew what he knew about the moon. “I’m only one Auror, sir. I can’t work this case alone. There’s no way, not a serial case like this.” 

Jenkins thumped his empty cup on his desk. “I know. But I don’t like that this is going to drag on another month without much chance of solving.” He sat down at his desk. 

“Get yourself over to Booking, maybe you can learn something if any Weres come in tonight.” 

Harry took his unfinished reports over to Booking, that small corner of desks by the holding cells one floor down. It was one of the few places in the whole Ministry accessible by stairs, and Harry took them out of habit. In fact, this level was only accessible by stair and apparition. When parents came to pick up their wayward children or tearful friends and lovers showed up with bail, they had to wait in the Atrium. 

Booking consisted of a long counter with three stations behind it and a large piece of spell proof glass to keep the Booking Aurors safe while writing. Off to one side was a long corridor with the holding cells. The cells for Weres used to be at the back, because before the war there wasn’t much use for them. But after, the whole cell block had been renovated, and now each and every cell was specially designed to hold a shifted Were or criminal witch or wizard. It was an expensive overhaul, and Robards had complained for months. But month after month, over half those cells were filled by the full moon. 

Most of the Weres were repeat offenders, in more months then they were out and long since registered. In the beginning, Hermione had come in the morning after, eager to offer housing and job training assistance. That had been a long time ago though. It was the registry that the Ministry used to estimate the number of Weres in the city, high estimates put the population around 150. 

Harry set his papers down on the third station as he thought about the registry. Daisy, Sawyer, Ajax, Draco, all unregistered. How accurate was that number? 

“Look, Sampson, help!” Jones, Harry was pretty sure her name was Jones but had to double check her name tag to be sure, smiled brightly. “It’s always nice to have help.” She was young, or at least younger than Harry. Lots of trainees who failed out of the Auror Academy ended up in booking, reception, or archives. And she was pretty too, with a heart shaped face and soft curls, dressed in a navy blouse and matching skirt. 

Sampson was older with a large belly and a bald spot, and he grunted at Jones’s outburst. 

“That’s me, here to help tonight.” Harry took his seat, and pulled out his report, hoping Jones would get the hint and leave him to it before it got busy. 

“You’re Harry Potter, right?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Harry tried to read the last paragraph he had written, a reminder of where he left off. 

“How’d you end up down here? I heard you didn’t even have to attend the Academy before they hired you.” 

“Partner’s out tonight.” He started to write. Found dried wolfsbane leaves and stems in a sealed envelope… 

“That’s rough. Well, Booking’s not really as exciting as patrolling probably is. We don’t see much of anything down here until after 1am, but then sometimes it gets real busy. It takes a minute to do all the paperwork, see, and especially at the full moon, there’s all kinds of Weres coming in as well as all the people too sloshed to make a good choice.” 

Harry looked up at her. “Actually, I was sort of hoping to get some of my paperwork done before it gets too busy. If you don’t mind.” 

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m sure you Aurors are always busy. There must not be a lot of time for all the boring stuff. That’s why I ended up in Booking, I was always good at completing my written assignments. It was the physical stuff that was a challenge. Never did get the hang of a patronus. I heard you managed to conjure one in third year! That’s pretty impressive.” 

Harry gave her a tight smile, and tried to focus through the chatter. 

It was a steady stream that lasted right up until the first Aurors showed up at the apparition point, levitating someone in a bodybind. “Drunk and Disorderly,” said Thompson to Harry, who quickly put aside his work and pulled out a clean form. 

Jones leaned over, and Harry caught a whiff of her sweet perfume. “Oh no, that’s not the right form, not for Drunk and Disorderly. Here.” She riffled through her own piles, and handed one to Harry before proceeding to help him fill it out as if he couldn’t read the questions on his own. 

She smiled brightly at Harry as Thompson led Mr. Stanis down to the first holding cell to sleep it off. 

And that was how it went until just after 3am, Thompson and Aziz were back again, this time with a young man in a body bind and a muzzle, a Were. Only Weres had to be muzzled. His eyes were fierce and darting through the room. He was muscled and dressed in dark denims and a dark shirt, blood on his knuckles. There was something about the way his eyes moved that caught Harry’s attention, something about the way they looked at everything. 

“B and E,” Thompson called. 

Sampson filled out the paperwork, and then Thompson and Aziz hauled him into one of two interrogation rooms on this floor. Harry rolled his chair back. “Sampson, was he on the registry?” 

“Nope.” Sampson sighed. “More paperwork.” 

“I’ll do it,” Harry offered. 

Sampson gave him a confused look, and then passed over the form. “Be my guest.” 

Harry gathered the tedious forms and glanced over the questions: name, age, age when bitten, distinguishing marks or tattoos, address, vocation, employer, sire, known associates. The questions went on and on thanks to Hermione. The idea was to track and eventually prevent, but Harry was pretty sure most of the data was falsified. But false data was still helpful--according to Hermione. 

“Oi! Potter!” Aziz called from the front desk. “You’re the Were Whisperer, come take a crack at this one.” 

Harry glanced at the desk, no one was in line, and Jones shrugged at him before picking up her romance novel. It seemed he wasn’t needed at the moment, so Harry followed Aziz back to the room in hopes of learning something helpful. 

Thompson was lingering by the door, muttering a few obscenities under his breath, “bloody beast. Don’t know why we can’t just euthanize you all here and now. Make our lives easier. Stupid classifications.” 

Harry quickly focused on the Were. He was cuffed to the table, standard procedure for anyone considered a risk. And he was still, lips curled back in a snarl, eyes narrowed, nose flared, angry and possibly dangerous then. “You can go, Thompson,” Harry said in an attempt to defuse the situation. 

He took a seat across from the man, laid the parchment out in front of him, and waited for the door to shut before speaking. Both Thompson and Aziz would be watching and listening on the other side of the wall. “What’s your name?” 

“Piss. Off.” He spat. 

Harry nodded and put down his brio. “Is that what you want me to call you then?” 

“I don’t want you to call me anything!” He growled and leaned across the table. “That’s an interesting smell.” 

“Yeah.” Harry licked his lips, and hoped he could deflect. “I get that a lot actually.” 

He leaned back in the chair and tried to cross his arms only to be stopped by the cuffs. He growled at them for a minute, but then turned his attention back to Harry. “Why?” 

“The same reason you won’t tell me your name.” If they had been anywhere else, Harry would have owned up to smell, but he wasn’t about to share anything about Teddy or Draco with Thompson. 

His teeth came out, and the man lunged across the table, which was large enough that he couldn’t get over it. Reflexively, Harry leaned back just as the man recovered and kicked the table, flipping it on the side and sending himself flying over the edge. Harry had just enough time to slide to the left and out of the way. Still cuffed to the table, the man couldn’t go far, but now he was close enough to bite Harry. 

It was one part instinct and one part memory. Harry brought his arm up, and smashed him against the wall, pinned him so he couldn’t move. He heard the man’s shoulder dislocate from being pulled by both Harry and the heavy table. The door slammed open. 

“Move out of the way, Potter.” Thompson shouted. 

Harry stared the man in the eye, didn’t let Thompson or Aziz distract him from the staring contest he was having. “Get out Thompson. I got this.” 

“Oh, you got me, have you?” He snarled softly so that just Harry could hear. 

“Yeah.” Harry growled back. “I got you, and you’re not going anywhere.” He gave a little shove to make his point. 

And then they all waited, Thompson and Aziz with held breath at the door, Harry breathing hard in the effort to stare him down and keep him pinned to the wall. And then, just when Harry thought Thompson would try to intervene again, the Were looked away, leaned his head slightly and said. “James. My name is James.” 

Harry stepped back. “I think you’ve got a dislocated shoulder, James. Let me fix it for you.” He took out his wand, and James flinched just a little, just enough to let Harry know he was muggle too. “Merlin help us.” That registry was worthless. “Episkey.” Harry cast, and they all watched as James’s arm moved back into place. 

Harry then took off the cuffs and righted the table. “I’ve got this,” he said to Thompson and Aziz. 

“Are you sure?” Aziz asked, but Thompson was tugging him out of the room. 

Both Harry and James took their seats back at the table; Harry left the cuffs off. Perhaps Aziz and Thompson would think it an oversight, but Harry had no intention of cuffing him again. “You were caught breaking into the North Street Apothecary.” 

“Bloody wankers,” James snarled. 

“Why?” 

“Sold us bad potion is why.” He smacked his hand on the table. “Four of us in the ER for all the vomiting. Doctor told me lucky none of ‘em died they were so dehydrated.” 

“What was the potion?” Harry had to ask, but he already knew. There was only one potion that any Were would be talking about during this week. 

“Fucking wolfsbane is what.” He turned and glared at the corner. 

Harry nodded slowly. “Was this your regular supplier?” It was a crime to supply wolfsbane without a Ministry license, and according to Hermione there were only three of those, and she was their only customer. 

“No, our regular guy is out for some reason this month.” 

“What’s his name?” Because Harry had to ask. 

James fixed a steely gaze on him. “I ain’t doing a witch hunt. You caught me, but I ain’t giving anybody else up. You’re not my Alpha.” 

That was typical behavior, and Harry was not surprised. The Alpha comment though, that part Harry didn’t like at all. “I’m not anybody’s Alpha,” he said. 

He gave Harry a long look. “Somebody taught you something then. I know Wolves who end up here sometimes, and Aurors never behave like you.” 

Harry didn’t look away, because he didn’t want James to know that comment made him uncomfortable. “Doesn’t matter. I need the name of your regular supplier. It’s a crime to brew Wolfsbane without a Ministry license.” 

“And I said not gonna happen.” He crossed his arms, body going still, and Harry sensed another confrontation brewing. 

“Fine. Then I need you to look at something for me.” Harry looked up at the wall and crocked his finger. 

After a moment there was a knock on the door, and Harry went over to talk to Thompson. He spoke quietly, remembering the way Malfoy had been so careful, “Can you bring the pelts? I want to see if he can identify any of them.” 

Harry sat calmly in his chair and watched James while they waited. He pulled at his shirt, as if too hot in his own skin, and tapped his fingers along the edge of the table, jiggled his foot around. It was odd to see these types of habits in someone else. Teddy had been an endless bubble of energy the last two days, getting more and more rambunctious with each day that passed. And Malfoy was always unbuttoning his shirt, shedding his shoes, rolling his cuffs up or down depending on who was in the room. He’d thought of those habits as being Were-related, but still specific to each of them. To see someone else struggle to contain the need to move and suffer from too much heat made Harry feel a fool for not having seen it in Teddy earlier. 

Thompson opened the door, finally, and Harry jumped up to take the tote. There was no telling what Thompson would do with it or how James would react, and Harry didn’t want any repeat unpleasantness. He took the tote and gently set it on the table. 

“Do you know about the dead Werewolves?” 

James jerked up in shock. “What?” 

Definitely a muggle then. “We’ve found some remains over the last few months. I was hoping you would take a look and let me know if you recognize any of them.” 

Harry waited for his nod before carefully lifting out the first, Sawyer. James stood, and took the remains from Harry just as reverently as Malfoy had. He didn’t lay them out on the table, but he did lower his head to touch their foreheads together. “May you run forever in the home of our ancestors.” He turned to Harry then. “I don’t know this one.” 

Harry nodded, waited for him to set Sawyer aside, and then lifted Daisy. 

James sucked in a deep breath and brought his hands up but didn’t take her. “That would be Daisy.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes. Her Pack has territory alongside ours. She was a good kid, too good for that.” He reached out and touched her snout before pressing their foreheads together. 

“Why do you do that?” Harry asked, and then tacked on, “If you don’t mind,” in case the question was rude. 

James straightened. “It’s a sign of respect. We live in separate Packs, but we all came from the same, the line goes back unbroken to Romulus, the first of us.” 

Just as Malfoy had shared with Teddy. “There’s one more,” Harry said, lifting out the last of the three. 

“I don’t know this one either.” James repeated his ritual. “May you run forever in the home of our ancestors.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said as he packed them away. “I’m afraid that because you are a Werewolf and this is the week of the full moon, you will have to stay here until after your shift. We will provide wolfsbane, and someone will have to post bail money for you before we can release you. There will be a trial regarding your actions at the North Street Apothecary.” 

James watched him walk to the door. “It’s a crime for them to brew for us, isn’t it?” 

Harry jerked his head to indicate James should follow. “If they aren’t licensed, then yes. I would have to check the registry, but it’s unlikely they are.” 

“Then they’ll be punished too, for what they did?” 

“Most likely.” 

“Good.” James stood up and walked over to the door. “They deserve it for what they did to my Pack.” 

Out in the hall, Harry quickly shoved the tote at Thompson, and put a hand on James’s forearm. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to the cell.” 

Thompson spluttered a bit, it wasn’t strictly procedure for Harry to do this, but he wasn’t exactly willing to let Thompson rile James up again for no reason. James followed Harry sedately down the hall, and when Harry locked the cell he had to quell the urge to apologize. 

Work in Booking slowed down the closer the clock ticked towards 7 am, and it dropped off significantly when Jones left at 6. Harry wasn’t sure if he should stay after seven; technically, that’s when he was supposed to report back to Jenkins for the shift end meeting, but he didn’t have anything to report. Even the conversation with James wasn’t really new information. 

Sampson gave him a look that might have said ‘stuck with this bloody blighter’ or might have said ‘bloody blighter ought to get me a sandwich.’ Harry wasn’t sure which, but he was pretty sure Sampson was the kind of man who considered anyone under the age of forty a bloody blighter. “Go home. Nothing more you can do up here. Unless you like the paperwork.” 

Harry didn’t and he had some questions now about wolfsbane. He could take Teddy to school and then stop at Malfoy’s flat. “Thanks.” Harry nodded and gathered his things. 

It was easy enough to slip into Jenkins office and give a quick, “Nothing new, I’m off,” before heading to the Atrium to apparate home before the rush. The sun was over the horizon, but only just, when Harry walked up the steps to Grimmauld Place. He liked the way the old building looked at this time of day, the cream colored bricks all looked fresh in the gentle light. Calm and peaceful, that’s how it looked to Harry. 

Inside was a very different situation. Harry stepped into the entryway and heard a series of loud clangs followed by an even louder and distinctly masculine “Fuck!” from the parlour. Since that couldn’t possibly be Andromeda, Harry opened the door to see what was going on inside. 

Malfoy was bent over at the waist with his head stuck up the chimney, presumably to inspect the floo. Harry’s mouth went a little dry, the way it seemed to be doing more and more often lately, at the sight of his arse. He had on joggers, and Harry distinctly liked the look of Malfoy in joggers. It should have been odd to see him padding about the house in just the trousers, but with his hair on the shaggier side and the earring--he just looked so casual. So unlike the Malfoy from school who wouldn’t have dared be seen in something so muggle. 

He was so different from then, Harry realized with a quick start. Not that he hadn’t known it before, but still. It was in the way he spoke so respectfully to Andromeda and looked so carefully after Teddy, and okay, so he was still proud and haughty and damned annoying sometimes, those things had sort of shifted a bit. He had to be proud because no one else was going to be proud of him, and that haughty attitude covered up for a gut-wrenching vulnerability that he wouldn’t have shown anyone except there was Teddy now. 

And he had a damn fine arse. 

“What are you doing in there?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy jerked, knocking his head on something, and then he backed out of the fireplace. “Potter,” he said, wiping his dirty hands on the soft cotton of his trousers. “Thought I’d take a look at your floo.” 

“I can see that.” Harry stopped talking because Malfoy was now prowling towards him, eyes narrowed in a question. He took a step back as Malfoy showed no signs of stopping even though he was clearly invading Harry’s personal space. And then he took another, and another, until he was backed all the way up against the wall next to the door. 

And Malfoy was still moving towards him, pressing their bodies tightly together, rubbing his nose along his cheek to his ear, down along his neck to the juncture at his shoulder. Harry’s head hit the wall, and it was a good thing Malfoy was pressed so tight. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of him seeping into Harry, not warmth but a searing heat that burned into him. No one had ever been aggressive like this with Harry, and he found he liked it, the pounding in his veins, the tingling awareness of Malfoy’s chest and hips and thighs pressed so close. Harry wasn’t sure if it was Malfoy’s heart or his own that was pounding in his ears. If he turned his head, would Malfoy-- 

“Potter, why do you smell like another Werewolf?” he growled against Harry’s neck breathing deeply. 

“Uh--there--” His tongue was slow, sloppy to form the words. “I was in Booking, and I--” 

Malfoy growled again, not angry, but low and heady. “There it is,” he said, face pressed so tightly to his shoulder that Malfoy’s nose was practically in Harry’s armpit. He ran his hands down the length of Harry’s arms, pushed them up over his head and ground himself fiercely against Harry. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed. 

“Mmm,” Malfoy hummed. “I don’t like it when you smell like other people. Because this--” He pressed his face into Harry’s neck, breathed hotly against him, licked the skin. “I like this smell.” 

“Oh shit.” Harry moaned, pressing his shoulders back and his groin forward to grind up hard against Malfoy, to feel the length of him press back. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. “What-what do I smell like?” 

“Hmm,” Malfoy licked his neck again, and Harry tilted to give him more access. “Like dirt and grass. Like flying on a warm day. Heady.” He breathed in again, pressing and pressing and pressing. 

And Harry twisted his wrists, still pinned the wall above him. He wanted to be closer, wanted to catch Draco, to touch him and do some licking of his own. And he wanted to stay there, pinned to the wall, listening to the sounds Draco was making and feeling the weight of him. Harry might have whined a little. 

Draco brought his mouth up to Harry’s ear, bit the lobe and whispered, “You smell like home, because you smell like Andromeda and Teddy, but it’s more.” He dragged his nose across the stubble on Harry’s face. “It’s freedom too, like wide open spaces and running and taking and living.” His lips barely brushed against Harry, and Harry jerked up to press his now aching cock against Draco. 

And Draco groaned. “Fuck, you smell good like this.” He brought Harry’s hands together, held them with just one of his and reached down between them, to the button on Harry’s trousers. 

“Harry!” Teddy screamed and tore into the parlour. 

Where before Draco had been slow and sure, a steady force not to be deterred, now he dropped Harry’s hands with shaking fingers and flung himself across the room on unsteady feet, leaving Harry to try and stand, hands still held over his head. He lowered them slowly, sadly even. “Good morning Teddy.” 

“You’re home early!” 

And then Andromeda was walking into the room, looking between Harry still against the wall and probably flushed, and Draco who had stuck his head back in the chimney. And Harry couldn’t help but look at his arse again, bent over as he was. Andromeda didn’t say anything for a moment, and then said, “Come along Teddy, you can help me mix pancakes for breakfast this morning. I think Harry and Draco were in the middle of something.” 

“Okay!” Teddy squealed, and Andromeda steered him out of the room, shutting the door behind them in explicit approval. 

Harry waited to see if Draco would move from the chimney when the door shut, but he didn’t. He stood there for what felt like an eternity while Harry remembered how to breath. “Are you going to look at me?” Harry asked softly. 

At least Draco pulled his head out of the floo, even if he didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line. It won’t happen again.” 

“Why did it happen this time?” 

He clenched his hands and looked up at the ceiling in a silent plea, perhaps for salvation from above. “I don’t have a good answer.” 

“Do you have a bad one?” 

And Draco did turn around then, hands still clenched at his sides, eyes blazing out fiercely. “What do you want from me, Harry? I’m a territorial bastard who smelled you smelling like someone else and couldn’t stand it, not again. And I lost my head for a moment. It’s not my business who you smell like or why.” 

“Because you like the way I smell.” 

He groaned loudly and turned back to the floo. “What do you want from me, Harry? I said I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.” 

He stood there, hands fisted, shoulders so tense they were nearly around his ears, even his arse seemed to be clenched tight. And it occurred to Harry that he really didn’t know what he wanted from Draco, that he hadn’t wanted anything, and now, all of a sudden he did. And that seemed like a canyon that he just couldn’t cross. “I should take a shower.” 

Harry tried to tell himself he wasn’t running away, that he was giving Draco space for-for whatever it was that Draco needed space for. He took the stairs two at a time all the way to the third floor and slammed the bathroom door shut behind him. 

What did he want from Draco? 

Harry turned on the taps, and closed his eyes while he wanted for the water to get warm. Without Draco pressed against him, he felt cold, and he kept replying that moment in his head. Draco pressed against him, thigh tight against his cock, hands pinned over his head, the softness of his nose, the husky tone of his voice. It curled hot and tight in his stomach, and Harry quickly shucked off his shirt. 

With Ginny it was different, laughter and slow, languid moments, good but soft and fleeting. This thing with Draco felt burned underneath his skin, unshakable, and Harry was still hard. He pushed his trousers and pants down, but didn’t look to see just how hard he was. He didn’t need to see. 

_“What do you want from me?”_

Harry could hear the words, as if Draco were still saying them on some sort of horrible broken repeat. What did he want? It wasn’t that long ago that he would have said for Draco to leave, but things with Teddy were--not better, but--well, maybe better was the word. His tantrums and manic moments were easier to understand, to predict, and when Harry and Andromeda were tired, Draco was there, bursting with just as much energy to run with him. So, no, Harry didn’t want him to leave. 

_“What do you want from me?”_

Did Harry want him to stay? He had been hoping to talk to Ginny about moving into Grimmauld Place, so that when she was in town he’d get to spend more time with her, to see how she got along with Teddy and Andromeda day in and day out. And now, Draco was living here, if only part time, and Ginny certainly wouldn’t like that, not him being in the room next to them with that super hearing and smelling of his. 

Besides, Draco didn’t exactly play well with others, and Ginny could be just as stubborn. Things with Draco felt tenuous, like a thin cord frayed at one end and perpetually threatening to unravel. If things with Ginny didn’t go well, Harry knew that Draco would not be around as often, and Teddy would mope and whine and probably go off through the neighborhood to find him again. 

What did Harry want from Draco? 

He stepped into the water, let it beat down on his head and back, let the heat of it sink into him. Harry leaned back against the tile and closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind of difficult, complicated thoughts. He didn’t need to think about Ginny right now, didn’t need to worry about what would happen with Teddy because Ginny wasn’t going to move in during the next two weeks. And Draco wasn’t going to move out in that time frame either. And things would be different when she came back into town. 

So Harry thought about Draco’s thin lips that were terribly pink and the way his chest moved as he walked through the room. As he stalked over to Harry, eyes dark and focused on his quarry, on Harry. His touch lingered on Harry’s skin as he ran his fingers down his sides, to rest lightly on the waistband of his trousers, as they dipped in and skimmed the skin hidden beneath. 

Harry let his own hands trail down to his cock, let his fingers run along the side from tip to base, enjoyed the heat of the water on his chest as it hit and then ran down his legs. He stroked up and down, a tight tug, as he thought about Draco flicking open the button and pulling down the zip, as his cock sprang out and Draco wrapped long sure fingers around him. 

He thought about Draco’s lips close to his ear, hot air as Draco spoke, breathless and low. “Fuck, you smell good.” And Harry spilled over his fist, his own voice breathless as he gasped out, “Fuck.” 

When Harry came back downstairs, dressed in comfortable denims and a faded shirt, Teddy and Draco were seated at the table. Teddy was kicking his legs while Draco asked him about the alphabet. Harry took his seat on the other side and gave them both a smile. Draco swallowed and looked down. 

Harry started to say something, something about--well, he didn’t know what, which was fine because Andromeda reappeared with a plate heaped with pancakes that she set in the middle of the table. Teddy immediately reached out, until Draco elbowed him in the side. “Wait your turn.” 

And Teddy settled back into his seat and nodded seriously; it was just one of many small changes. Andromeda brought out syrup and Harry piled three pancakes onto his plate before passing it over to Draco. His mouth dropped open a little, and then he took the plate, fingers brushing against Harry’s before serving himself three pancakes and passing the plate to Andromeda. 

Harry remembered that he wanted to ask Draco about the Wolfsbane Potion. “Have you ever heard of someone getting really sick after taking the wolfsbane potion?” 

Draco cut his pancakes. “Loads of people have some nausea or light sensitivity, headache. There’s side effects to every potion.” He shrugged. 

“Can it make people really sick?” Harry poured some syrup. 

Draco put down his fork and leaned back in his chair to give Harry and the conversation his full attention. “Wolfsbane is a poison.” 

“So this potion--” Harry looked over a Teddy who was busy shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he possibly could and decided it was better not to finish that sentence 

“It’s more complicated than that.” Draco sighed. “Wolfsbane is incredibly poisonous, and some people are more susceptible than others. The potion needs to be tailored.” 

“Huh, so, how you brew the potion determines how poisonous it is?” 

“I mean, it’s complicated. Essentially, Wolfsbane is like Draught of Peace, sort of calms the inner wolf. I make a wolfsbane syrup, but some potioneers just add flower petals.” Draco shrugged again. This conversation was starting to feel personal because the one time Sawyer tried wolfsbane, he’d almost died. And Draco really didn’t want to get into that over the breakfast table, in front of Teddy. 

Harry didn’t notice the awkward internal debate Draco was having and plunged forward in his questioning. “Okay. But Weres have to take it every month then, so they should know how they will react, right?” Harry took a bite of his own pancakes. 

Draco carefully put his fork down and folded his hands in his lap to keep them still. “It’s an art, Potter, not a science. Depending on the variety of wolfsbane, the growing season, it can be more or less potent. The color of the flower can impact that too. Each potioneer has different ideas about what makes the most effective potion.” 

A little bit of syrup dribbled at the corner of Harry’s mouth, and Draco thought of Teddy. It was a good way to keep his mind focused on the facts. “So how do you keep from killing someone if there is such a wide range?” 

Draco shrugged. “I keep a lot of notes on reactions. Sometimes I add other ingredients for nausea or headache. For some people I add hyssop because it boosts the mind’s control and then you don’t need as much wolfsbane. You have to be experienced to brew the right potency, You have to to modify and test for toxicity.” He looked over at Teddy. “I’m a good potioneer.” He smiled and ruffled his hair. 

So it would be reasonable for James to be upset with a subpar potion, if the risks were that great. Harry leaned back in his chair, and thought through the implications. He’d no idea just how sensitive the potion could be, the complicated factors potioneers took into consideration for their patients. “I knew it was complicated, I just didn’t know how complicated. How many people did you brew for?” 

Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at Harry for a moment. “Why are you asking? 

“No I--” Harry cut himself off. “It’s just, really impressive. I mean you’re sort of brilliant to be able to do all that.” 

“Oh,” Draco turned a bit pink at the ears and looked down at his plate. 

“Well, Teddy, if you are finished with those pancakes, it’s time to get you to school.” Andromeda interrupted the moment. 

“I can walk him.” Both Draco and Harry said at the same time, both latching on to the out of the awkward moment the conversation had come to. 

“Yeah!” Teddy jumped out of his chair. “Both! I want both!” 

Harry looked at Draco only to see him looking back. “It might be better if Potter--” 

Harry cut him off. “It’s fine. We should both do it.” 

“Okay,” Draco said slowly, as if still contemplating the possibility of running off in the other direction. “Let me find my shoes and a shirt.”


	8. Chapter 8: It’s His Party But I’ll Cry If I Want To

“Well, don’t you look very handsome.” Harry watched Draco smile at Teddy as Teddy showed off his new shirt and sunglasses. “Very cool.” 

“Really?” Teddy asked. 

Draco was sitting on his bed and trying not to laugh. “Of course! You’d be the most popular at the club. Everyone would want to dance with you.” 

“Eww!” Teddy cried, scrunching his face and then turning to his bookshelf. 

Draco did laugh at him then, and Harry couldn’t help laughing either. 

“You like that place?” Teddy asked, book in hand and nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“Normally, this time of the month, you can hardly keep me out, good thing I have you. You’ll keep me out of trouble, right?” 

“Mama will get mad at you.” Teddy pushed fists onto his hips and scowled in a terrible impersonation of Andromeda. Harry and Draco laughed again. “She hates trouble.” 

“That she does.” Teddy climbed onto the bed, and Draco looked over at Harry who was still leaning against the door with no intention of moving. 

He loved watching Draco and Teddy together, sitting on the bed or the sofa or at the table, reading together or working on Teddy’s school work or playing a game. Teddy looked so engrossed in the activity, and Draco looked so soft with his head bent in concentration, usually a small smile that wasn’t so much in his mouth but in the crinkling around his eyes. Away from Teddy, Draco was guarded with squared shoulders and a straight back and that direct, almost accusatory, expression. It was nice to see him relaxed. 

Teddy climbed up on the bed next to Draco and shoved the book in his lap. “Can’t we read later, after my party?” 

Draco’s shoulders went up. “No. I won’t be able to read then.” 

“But why not?” 

Draco ran his fingers over the cover of the book. “Has anyone ever told you what a Werewolf is?” 

Teddy shook his head. 

“Well,” Draco took a deep breath. “When the sun goes down tonight, I am going to change into a wolf, that’s what a Werewolf is. We call it shifting, and it happens every full moon.” 

Teddy peered up at Draco with big, big eyes, and for a moment, Harry worried Teddy would be afraid. “That’s so cool,” he said in an awed voice. “What kind?” 

Draco laughed and ruffled his hair. “After your party, you’ll have to come upstairs and find out, alright?” 

“Okay!” Teddy opened his book. “Read this one!” 

“This one? Again? Don’t you ever get tired of it?” 

“NO! I like the rabbits.” Teddy put his finger under the first word. 

And Draco began to read, “Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed…” 

Harry turned away and left them to their own quiet moment as it would be the only one Draco would get this evening. There wasn’t much left to do before the party started. Andromeda was icing the cake, she’d spent most of the day in the kitchen preparing the finger foods with Draco and Teddy at her elbows. The parlour was all cleaned and decorated, and Draco had finished fixing the floo just that morning. He’d spent a good portion of the night detangling the charmwork and cleaning out what must have been fifty years of soot. 

So he sat down in one of the chairs and opened the Prophet. It wasn’t often that he read the stupid rag, but Andromeda liked the keep tabs on what was going on. Typically, Harry got more than enough politics and gossip at work, but the party didn’t start until seven. 

With the full moon, most of the letters to the editor were all about the upcoming Werewolf legislation, and not terribly complimentary, arguing that Weres had been a problem ten years ago when there were so many less of them. But one caught his attention. 

_Dear Editor,  
After centuries of discrimination, is it not understandable that Werewolves are cautious in coming forward? With the WSS located in the Atrium of the Ministry, one of the busiest magical locations in all of England, why would anyone want to go in there? They might as well take out an Advert in this very paper announcing their status and inciting ever more discrimination. The wolfsbane potion has been in existence for thirty years, with significant side effects for those who dare to drink it. If the Ministry wants to require each and every Were to drink the poisonous beverage, how are they going to ensure their safety? And why haven’t they invested resources into developing safer and more effective versions? This paper and the Ministry has tried to put the onus of assimilation of the Were population onto the Weres themselves, but with nearly five hundred years of hatred and persecution why would anyone invite more onto themselves?   
Vale_

The letter was followed by four more extolling the need to protect the wizarding population, to ensure that no one else suffers the bite, to keep Hogwarts students from potential harm. That one made Harry laugh. 

_Dear Editor,  
Registration is the very least that we should require of the dreaded Were population. It is imperative that parents know the names and addresses of these delinquent persons in order to ensure the safety of their children. The fact that the Aurors cannot keep them from causing a ruckus in Wizarding Establishments is a black mark on their reputations. The idea that a Werewolf would be allowed to attend Hogwarts is laughable. That sacred institution is where we send out children to learn in safety, where teachers hold their student’s needs above their own, where children can learn in a peaceful and inviting environment. Public knowledge of status, strict administration of the wolfsbane potion under controlled circumstances, and restriction from sensitive locations is the very least any decent witch or wizard can require of this dangerous threat._

__

Seriously, trolls, the Forbidden Forest, hidden valuable artefacts, illegal dragons, Peeves, miscast spells from other students, that’s what people considered safe? And that didn’t even include the DADA professors or Voldemort. And Harry had dealt with all of that his first year. Safe indeed! 

__

Harry scoffed and set the paper aside. It was creeping closer and closer to time, and Harry wanted to make sure that Draco was settled in for the evening before anyone arrived and asked questions about what he was doing. Teddy ran down the stairs as Harry was going up so that they nearly collided in his quest to sneak a snack from Andromeda. Harry flattened himself against the wall at the last minute, having learned the hard way not to stand between Teddy and his snack. 

__

Even though Draco's room was right next to Harry’s, he hadn’t been inside since Draco had started staying the night. And there hadn’t been much cause for him to go in the room before then either. Draco had moved some of the furniture around, moving the single bed up against the wall underneath the window with the wardrobe shoved in the corner between the wall and the footboard. There was a desk in another corner, and a round rug in the middle of the room, lots of space for pacing when he was restless, Harry realized. 

__

He was sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped around one knee, turned away from Harry to look out the window. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay up here.” Harry straightened up, but didn’t cross into the room. 

__

Draco turned to look, his eyes bright and his arms still tight around his knee. “The sun will be down soon. You should probably go.” And then he heaved forward like he might sick up. “It’s not a pretty sight, Potter.” 

__

He heaved again, this time falling on to his hands and knees on the floor. A tremor ran through his body, and then another, and he yanked at his shirt pulling it off over his head. He’d easily lost four stone, all the muscle and fat seemed suddenly gone from his face, arms, chest, and Harry could see the outline of his ribs and spine. He looked dead, starved, and he heaved violently again. 

__

There was a sickening crack, and Draco cried out as if he’d suddenly broken a bone. When Harry looked down, the bottom half of his legs were missing, replaced with a long bone and ropy muscles. He shivered violently and a sudden wave of bright white fur sprouted from his head and washed down his back, short and fluffy like down. And then Draco did it again, a second wave of whiter, longer fur growing in a thick, fluffy wave to completely cover the first layer. 

__

He was smaller than Harry expected, furrier too, and Harry had been expecting a lot of fur, with ears that were surely too small for a wolf. “An arctic wolf?” Harry said. “But this is England, what would an arctic wolf be doing here?” 

__

Draco swished his tail as if to say “fuck you” and leapt up on the bed. He turned three circles and then curled up in the same place he had been sitting when Harry arrived. “I’ll bring Teddy up later to say good night.” Harry bit his lip. “Uh, have a good evening, then.” And he slowly shut the door before leaning his forehead against it and breathing out a ragged, “fuck.” 

__

He was beautiful, all that thick white fur, and Harry sort of wanted to open the door, cross the room, and sink his hands into all that softness. He wanted to run his hands along Draco’s sides, and scratch behind his ears, and press their foreheads together. It was nearly overwhelming, the urge to be close to him, to stay near during this time. And Harry squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white. Draco had a Mate, he wouldn’t want this kind of attention from Harry, even if he and Harry didn’t have all that other history. Even if Harry wanted it. 

__

With that thought, Harry went down the stairs. He could hear Teddy squealing excitedly from the parlour anyway. 

__

* 

__

Draco laid his head on his paws, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. It might get his schedule all fucked, but there wasn’t much else for him to do. If he’d thought about it, he might have found a radio and dragged it into the room before, but he’d been so busy trying to be with Teddy that he’d forgotten. With Ajax, there had always been the Telly, or a radio in someone’s room, or conversation, and even at the Manor, Draco had been able to listen to the radio, usually a Quidditch match or some political commentary. 

__

But here there was only the low murmurs of the party three floors down. Draco hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop on them, it seemed rude, and really, who wanted to know what Granger and Weasley were up too? But Ginny was there too, laughing and probably touching Harry on the arm, kissing his cheek even, making him smell all wrong and like sex. He wanted to feel angry, but all he felt was lonely. 

__

And then there was the creak on the stairs, too soft to have much weight, but a quick, darting sort of step, and Draco couldn’t help but feel just the littlest bit pleased. It was, of course, completely unacceptable for Teddy to be sneaking away from his party to come visit, but Draco couldn’t help the little spike of warmth in his chest. 

__

He listened carefully to each and every squeak, to the soft footfalls, to his excited breathing, until the door opened and his small face peaked inside. “Ooh,” he sighed and pushed the door. “Wow.” 

__

Draco lifted his head, and watched Teddy cross the room, nearly tripping over the rug in his haste to cross the floor. He sank his fingers into the fur along his side, tugging a little harder than Draco liked, but not so painful. “You made your hair grow all over your body.” His voice was soft, almost reverent. 

__

Draco nosed his shoulder, and Teddy threw an arm around his neck, burying his face in the thick fur there. “It’s so soft.” He rubbed his face against Draco, and Draco made a low pleased murmur. 

__

Teddy pulled his face back, but left his arm clutched tight around him. “I want to sleep next to you!” 

__

And then he reached out and ran his hand from the top of Draco’s head to the tip of his snout, rubbing the fur the wrong way and causing Draco to wrinkle his nose in discomfort. And Teddy’s hand was hot against the wetness of Draco’s nose. He huffed against it, and Teddy squealed. 

__

He pulled his hand back, cocked his head to the side, and then said brightly. “Cake! You need cake!” With one last bright smile, he dashed out the door and back down the stairs. 

__

Draco settled himself back down and laughed quietly. What was he going to do with cake? That sounded positively disgusting to his wolf stomach. Would Teddy actually bring him a slice? Would it come on a plate with a fork or clutched messily in two hands? 

__

Maybe Potter would catch him and put a stop to that silliness. 

__

And the longer he listened, the more Draco hoped that last one was true, because he didn’t hear Teddy’s quick steps. 

__

It was about an hour before Draco heard anyone else on the staircase, and at first he thought it was Teddy because the steps were light, clearly not those of an adult. But they were slow, too slow, and a prickle of fear ran up Draco's spine. Who could be coming up the stairs? And then he heard a second set of feet, moving just as slowly. 

__

With the door shut, the airflow restricted, Draco couldn’t smell them, and he hoped furtively that they might stop at the second floor. Perhaps someone had their own sprog and Teddy was taking this other child up to his room to show off some toy or another? Draco clung to that hope as the footsteps continued up, and up, and up. 

__

And on past the second floor. 

__

Perhaps there was some forgotten present in Potter’s room? It was a dim hope, he knew, but still Draco hoped even as the steps moved down the hall and the door to his room opened. 

__

It was Teddy, with his hand wrapped carefully around the hand of a tiny red-headed girl. She had big eyes that seemed too big for her small face, and she smelled like Granger. Draco huffed a breath and squeezed his eyes closed. Perhaps if they thought he was asleep they would leave. 

__

“See,” Teddy was saying to the little girl. “He’s very nice. You can pet him if you want.” 

__

Draco kept his eyes closed even as the two of them crossed the floor, as Teddy put his hand on Draco’s side, as the little girl put hers there too. 

__

“His name is Draco, and he’s my family. Draco, this is Rosie, she’s my cousin too.” 

__

“Soft,” she whispered. 

__

And then Draco felt the bed shift, and her whole torso was pressed firmly up against him as she climbed up on the bed. She scratched behind his ears, still pressing up against him, and Draco opened his eyes to look at Teddy. Surely some anxious parent would notice their absence and be on the stairs at any moment. 

__

Oh god, and wouldn’t that just be a horrible end to the day, with Granger storming into the room to find her wayward child petting a Werewolf! She’d probably insist on spending the whole night seated next to him, waiting for the sun to rise and for Draco to shift so that she could talk him into coming to her dreadful Werewolf Services Office. Draco shivered a little. 

__

“Ooh! He’s cold.” Rosie settled next to him. “It’s okay, I’ll keep you warm.” And she tucked her little body in next to Draco on the bed, a small warm presence Draco hadn’t known he’d wanted. 

__

* 

__

Harry had drunk entirely too much wine, he realized suddenly; it was the only possible explanation for how he had ended up in this conversation with Hermione, He quickly looked over at Ron for a rescue, but he was busy arguing Quidditch with Ginny, and that would surely go on for another hour or two. Another quick glance revealed that Andromeda couldn’t help him either as she was busy discussing some sort of knitting technique with Molly. And Arthur was in the kitchen getting more food, which was his usual means of escape. 

__

“It’s those bloody purists!” Hermione was well into her rant now, and also at least a little drunk, based on the way she was glowering at Harry. “They think separation is the only way, but integration is what’s best for everyone. We can’t just reject the Weres, force them to live like muggles. They’re magical too, we have to respect that. And they can bring a lot of value to our community. There must be so much that they know that we have no idea about. For example the Packs, that’s new. I’ve been doing some research and two hundred and fifty years ago, there was a surge in the Werewolf population that led to Packs and immediately after the Packs arrived there was a huge decrease in the number of turnings. Why? And then, within fifty years, the population returned to the previously low levels and bitings increased. Is it some kind of cyclical nature?” 

__

She took another breath, and Harry broke in. “I don’t disagree, Hermione, but there is a huge amount that we don’t know. For example, did you know there are a number of Weres who are muggle, no magic at all. How do you integrate them? They can’t even come into the Ministry.” 

__

“I have to talk to them.” She thrust her hands on her hips, and Harry realized he was really in it now. “I need you to tell me when one comes into the holding cells next month.” “Hermione, there’s a no visitation policy.” 

__

“But you can go in and see them. You could convince one of them to meet with me! I’ve thought about this, Harry, it’s the only way.” 

__

And Harry thought of Draco two floors up. That was another option although it still hinged on him convincing Draco to talk to Hermione. Was that likely to be more successful than trying to convince a stranger? And even if Harry could convince Draco, would Hermione even agree to meet with him? 

__

“Oh, Teddy, where’s Rosie?” Arthur asked, saving Harry from having to commit one way or another to Hermione. 

__

Hermione took a quick look around the room, and then looked over at Ron. 

__

“She’s sleeping.” Teddy announced proudly. He even puffed out his chest, but Harry had a sinking sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

__

“Maybe we should go then,” Hermione said to Ron, who shrugged back at her. 

__

“If she’s asleep, she won’t care how long we’re here.” 

__

“Yes, but if she sleeps too long here, we might not be able to get her back to sleep at home,” Hermione said. 

__

“Good point.” Ron turned to Teddy. “Is she sleeping in your bed?” 

__

“No,” Teddy said, and Harry’s stomach clenched. “I took her up to see--” 

__

But Harry never did hear the rest of what Teddy said. His ears roared and a sickening dread raced through his veins. It was but a moment to get out the door, and Harry took the stairs two at a time at a full sprint all the way to the third floor with Hermione close behind. The stairs had never seemed so long. 

__

Maybe it wouldn’t have gone the way it did if Harry hadn’t been in such a hurry. If he’d just said, casually, oh, I’ll get her, then maybe Hermione wouldn’t have followed him, her panic quickly outstripping his own. Maybe she wouldn't have collided with Harry on the second floor landing causing him to stumble. In that moment, she quickstepped around him, and Harry was chasing her down the hall. Maybe, if he had done that, then he would have been able to prevent her from going into Draco’s room. But all he had been able to think was that he needed to get there first. 

__

Harry’s door was open, and Hermione slowed momentarily to peek in, but Rosie wasn’t in Harry’s room. And so she was on to the next, the closed door. It was like slow motion for Harry, two steps too far to stop her as she reached out and shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall. 

__

And then Rosie was screaming, having been woken by the loud sound, and Harry could hear a growl, and Hermione was screaming. Two steps more, Harry reached out and pulled Hermione back from the door, put himself between her and the room, saw only briefly the look of abject horror on her face, and then turned to Draco. 

__

Rosie had balled up her hands over her eyes and was crying profusely while Draco had wrapped his tail about her waist to keep her from falling head first onto the floor. He looked briefly at Harry and then nosed gently at her shoulder while Hermione screamed all the louder. There was a thunder of footsteps on the stairs. 

__

Harry turned back to Hermione and shouted, “Stop screaming!” 

__

“That is a Werewolf!” she shouted back. 

__

And Harry did the only thing he could to rectify the situation, he shut the door and locked it with a loud, “Colloportus!” It wouldn’t keep her out for long, but maybe long enough. 

__

Draco looked at Harry with big eyes that pulled at Harry painfully. 

__

“I’m sorry.” Harry held his hands up, “But I think Rosie needs to go back to Hermione now.” He took a step forward. Draco didn’t move, but that was okay, because he was the only thing keeping Rosie on the bed. “Rosie, Rosie, it’s okay. I’m going to take you to your Mum now. You want your Mum don’t you.” 

__

“Yes!” She sniffed loudly, and Harry got close enough to the bed to catch her, when Draco moved his tail. Rosie fell into his arms, just at the moment the door slammed open a second time. 

__

Draco growled and bristled, but didn’t move. 

__

Harry ran a hand across his back in an attempt to soothe him which was not entirely unsuccessful, and then he turned back to face Hermione and Ron in the doorway. They were both panting, and Ron was pointing his wand at Draco while Hermione half ran, half stumbled into the room. 

__

Which wouldn’t do. This was Draco’s space, and it wouldn’t do for strange and volatile persons to be inside at this moment. Harry thrust Rose into her arms and quickly steered her back out the door with a firm push. She went without complaint, head bent low over Rosie, hand smoothing her curls over and over and over as she hurried out. Harry paused at the door and sent one last look back at Draco. He had curled in tightly on himself, tail tucked tightly against his body, and head resting just as closely. He looked--sad, and lonely, and Harry felt for him, didn’t want to close the door, the image pulled at memories of his own lonely childhood. But with a quiet, “Sorry,” he did. 

__

Hermione passed Rosie over to Ron with a kiss on the top of her head. “Why is there a Werewolf in your spare bedroom?! Why didn’t you tell us? Harry, she could have--” 

__

“Enough!” Harry shouted and deliberately turned away from her. “Ron, why don’t you take Rosie downstairs. Teddy? Why did you bring Rosie up here? I thought we talked about this.” 

__

Teddy looked down at his untied shoes. “He was lonely.” 

__

“ _He_ was supposed to be a secret.” 

__

“You didn’t tell me that!” 

__

Harry squeezed his hands tightly. “You were told to leave him alone, that we would go up and say good night at the end of the party. Why didn’t you wait? Why did you bring Rosie up here?” 

__

He looked down at his shoes again. “He was lonely; I could tell.” 

__

“Did he tell you he was lonely?” 

__

“No!” Teddy clenched his own fists, a few tears leaking down his cheeks. “He never tells me he’s lonely, I just know.” 

__

It was a crushing statement because of course Draco was lonely. He didn’t have a full Pack, just a seven year old. His Mate died. And he had just spent the last several hours completely alone listening to a group of people have a party. Of course he was lonely, and it shouldn’t have taken an emphatic declaration from a seven year old for Harry to know that. “Okay. I will take care of him now, Teddy.” 

__

“But he needs Pack.” Teddy insisted. 

__

“I know.” Harry knelt down in front of Teddy. “And we are all he has right now, and I promise I am going to take care of him, but right now, I need you to go downstairs and let Andromeda know what happened.” 

__

“Okay.” Teddy heaved an exaggerated sigh, and then trudged down the stairs. 

__

There was a moment of silence as both Hermione and Harry waited for Teddy to reach the second floor, but then Hermione was speaking again, low and angry. “Who is he? Why is there a Werewolf here? Harry, it was really irresponsible for you to not tell us!” 

__

“Are you listening to yourself?” Harry’s voice was just as low and angry. “He is a person! And deserving of some privacy!” 

__

“He could have bitten Rosie!” 

__

What was she saying? Was she actually saying Draco was a danger? “He took his wolfsbane, he is perfectly safe!” 

__

“You still should have told us, we had a right--” 

__

“A right? You sound just like those letters in the Prophet!” 

__

“How dare you compare--” “No!” Harry interrupted her. “That is a person in there, and you just insinuated that he might have bitten your daughter on purpose! And by the way, his hearing is really good, he can hear every word!” 

__

“I--” 

__

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you, but I was trying to respect his privacy. I am sorry Teddy dragged Rosie up here to meet him, but I promise you, she was never in any danger. Do you think I would let someone dangerous live in the same house as Teddy?” 

__

“No, of course not.” She finally deflated. “I’m sorry, Harry. I should have known better.” 

__

“It’s okay.” Harry looked at the closed door. “It’s really not me that needs to hear that though.” 

__

She looked at the door too. “I’d really rather apologize at a time when he can speak to me. And maybe I can talk to him about the Werewolf Support Services?” She looked at Harry hopefully. 

__

And Harry couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up softly. “Oh Hermione, never change.” Harry shook his head and then made to open the door. 

__

“That’s not an answer.” She insisted. 

__

“I don’t have one for you.” Harry sighed. “Now, I’m going to make sure he is okay.” He didn’t wait for her answer before opening and just as quickly shutting the door. 

__

Draco looked up when Harry came in, uncurling himself only slightly as Harry stepped lightly across the room. He watched as Harry sat next to him on the bed, back pressed firmly against the wall and he brought a hand up to stroke down the length of his back. 

__

“I’m sorry about all that, Draco,” he said softly. 

__

His fur was soft under Harry’s hands, slipping gently through his fingers as he stroked, and Harry concentrated on the feel of it. The individual hairs were finer than the other wolf fur Harry had touched, but he tried not to think about those. Instead, Harry wondered if this was what Draco’s hair felt like when he was human. Was it thick like this? Because this fur was thick like his own hair, or would it be thin and fine in comparison? 

__

Harry let the short strands filter through his fingers, they were still soft, but also coarse, like the rough strands of wool that Molly Weasley used to knit thick socks and mittens. It moved smoothly across his skin, and made a soothing sound. Or, actually, Draco made a soothing sound, careful sighs of pleasure, and Harry reached up to stroke the fur along the top of his head too. 

__

Draco laid his head down in Harry’s lap, made it easier for Harry to scratch behind his small ears. Harry pressed his face against the top of Draco’s neck and breathed in the woodsy scent of his fur. It was nice too, calming and not unlike the cedar chest in Harry’s room. He didn’t sit with other people like this, not with Ginny where things were always rushed and busy, not with Andromeda who was more no-nonsense and almost standoffish, not with Hermione since the end of the war and all that. Only with Teddy, at bedtime, laying next to each other while reading. 

__

And even then, Teddy was full of movement, touching the pages, talking about the pictures, wiggling his legs. 

__

Harry breathed softly, closed his eyes, and thought this is nice.

__


	9. Conversations of a Difficult Nature

Draco woke up Sunday morning completely naked and wrapped around Harry who was completely clothed. He woke up to the smell of Harry, and his morning erection pressed pleasantly against the swell of Harry’s arse. He woke up at peace for the first time in weeks, a soft humming under his skin--the remnants of the wolf satisfied--and Draco hadn’t expected to feel that again. 

He shifted to sit up in the bed, the door was open, and bright light streamed in through the window. They must have both fallen asleep unexpectedly, to not have closed the curtains or the door, and Draco had slept through his morning shift. That knowledge dawned on him slowly, and Draco looked down at where Harry lay still sleeping, breathing in gentle huffs against the pillow. 

Harry looked soft in sleep, and Draco hated the thought of waking him. He slid slowly back, until his bare arse hit the cold wall--it felt good on his heated skin. And then Draco slid off the end of the bed. His shirt was lying on the floor where he’d thrown it while the remains of his trousers and pants were shredded where he must have completed his shift. He’d need to return to the flat for more clothes sometime today. It was a shame about the trousers, they’d been quite comfortable and it was hard to find something so nice at the shops Draco could afford. 

He crossed the floor silently, and found a pair of joggers in the wardrobe. At the door, Draco looked back at Harry; he’d rolled into the warm spot in the middle of the bed, on his back, hand thrown over the pillow. The sunlight bright across his cheek, and he rolled his head to the side. Did Harry always look like that when he was asleep? 

Draco left the door open because one of the hinges tended to squeak and he hadn’t had time to fix it quite yet. He took the stairs slowly, pausing on the second floor to sniff for Teddy, but it must have been later than he thought, because the scent was older. It must be after 10am, then, Draco decided as he could hear Andromeda downstairs. She had the shopping in the kitchen and was putting away the dry goods into the various cupboards. Milk, eggs, and the truly expensive amounts of meat that Draco and Teddy consumed were still sitting out on the table. “Good morning, Aunt.” 

“Good morning.” She put some canned peas up and then turned towards the cold foods. “Sometimes I dearly miss the refrigerator. It seems like such an odd thing to miss, but the stasis charms can be so tedious sometimes.” 

“Hmm.” Draco didn’t have much of an opinion on that. He’d not spent much time in magical kitchens. 

“You must be hungry this morning?” She said with her head buried in the stasis cupboard. “Eggs and bacon?” 

“Thank you.” Draco poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the small kitchen table. “Last night, was everyone alright?” 

Andromeda found a small skillet and began to crack three eggs into a bowl. “It was a bit of a mess, but in the end, I think it was alright. Rosie calmed down and babbled about the big doggie until I thought Ron might storm the stairs, but then Molly and Arthur suggested he take her home for some warm milk.” 

“Next time I will do my shift at--the flat.” He’d meant to say home, but couldn’t at the last minute. 

“Nonsense.” She held her hand to test the heat before pouring the eggs to scramble. 

“I won’t be the cause of trouble.” 

“You’re not.” 

“I--” But whatever Draco had been about to say was interrupted by the chime of the floo. Both Andromeda and Draco looked at the door towards the parlour in confusion and just a touch of mistrust. 

“Who could that be?” Andromeda wiped her hands on the dish towel and disappeared down the hall. She left the parlour door open, and Draco could hear her murmuring low into the floo. “I really don’t think this is the time.” 

Draco couldn’t hear the other person, but he had a sudden flash to last night and had his suspicions. 

“No, Harry is still abed, and I don’t think his guest will be terribly happy to speak with you without Harry.” 

Draco got up and wandered down the hall to listen in the doorway. 

“I just want to apologize for my behavior.” 

“I know you, Hermione Granger-Weasley,” and Draco had a moment of sympathy, it was never a good sign when Andromeda used the full name. “It isn’t going to be just an apology, and I don’t want you upsetting things here.” 

But Draco was already in the doorway, and his feet must have been visible, because then Hermione was saying, “Is that him? Please talk to me! I just want to apologize. It was inexcusable the way I reacted last night and I--” 

“Does she know about me?” Draco said softly to Andromeda. 

Not softly enough, because then Hermione was shouting. “Of course I know about you, I was in the house last night. I really am quite sorry, and I just want to speak for a few minutes.” 

Andromeda turned and watched Draco shrug, then moved aside to let Hermione through the floo. She stepped through, brushed nonexistent soot from her clothes, and then looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” She scowled angrily. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to apologize to the Were from last night.” Draco crossed his arms. She hadn’t known about him. “Perhaps I misunderstood.” 

“You are not a Were.” Hermione crossed her own, and the wrinkles on her face got even deeper. “Where’s Harry?” 

“For Christsake.” Draco dragged his hands through his hair and thought of Harry, still sleeping on his bed, the way it had felt to wake up next to another warm body. “I don’t need this.” He turned to Andromeda. “I’m going back to the flat.” 

“Teddy will be up soon,” she pointed out. “You promised to take him to the park this morning.” 

“Fuck,” he said quietly. 

“And I will remind you, again, not to use that language around him.” She flicked a glance at Hermione. “I’m going to finish cooking that breakfast. Come into the kitchen when you’re ready to eat.” And then she turned with an impressive flutter of her robes that made Draco long for Snape for a single moment. It had been a long time since he had felt that particular pang. 

He turned back to Granger. “Well, since I’m apparently not leaving and I refuse to wake Potter, I guess we should talk.” He took a seat on the sofa and gestured towards the chair across from him. 

Hermione sank suspiciously into the chair. “You’re not really a Were, are you?” 

“The bite on my hip and the monthly urges to run through the wild would argue otherwise.” He waved his hand dismissively through the air. 

“But, we would know if you had been bitten.” 

“Yes, because my parents don’t have millions of Galleons stashed away to bribe anyone who might know, to purchase ingredients and illegally brewed potions, and blah blah blah.” 

“But, how did you get bitten?” 

“Why does everyone ask that question? Isn't it obvious by my lack of a cell in Azkaban that we were piss poor Death Eaters? Why would He-Who-Needs-A-Good-Plastic-Surgeon give two shits about Fenrir Greyback biting me one night under the hazy glow of the full moon?” 

Hermione leaned back in her chair as the reality sank in. “So, why are you here?” 

Draco growled a little. He could smell Teddy on the stairs. “I don’t think that is any of your business.” The little footsteps passed the parlour door; the little guy must be more interested in the smell of eggs then Hermione. 

“It’s just, you’re the first Werewolf who’s agreed to speak with me.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” he replied drily. 

“You don’t have to be rude, I did come all this way to apologize to you.” She scowled and crossed her arms again. 

Draco sneered at her. “So you said, but you haven’t. And to be clear, I don’t need your apology. I just don’t want a bunch of people digging into my personal business.” 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione pushed out through gritted teeth. She waited nearly a whole minute and then said, “It’s just that I really want to help the Werewolves, but none of them will talk to me or come into the Werewolf Support Services. And some members of the Wizengamot keep talking about shutting it down and creating these squads to hunt down the Packs. And I just know if I could talk to people then we could all come to an understanding.” She looked at Draco with such an earnest openness, like he was the key she had been searching for all this time, as if he could solve all her problems and then, poof, everything would be good again. 

“Well,” Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, somewhat terrified at what he was about to say. “It would help if you didn’t hold all those bloody forums inside the Ministry.” 

“I have to,” Hermione said sort of dumbly. “It’s part of the Ministry regulations.” 

“And that’s why no Were will set foot in that room, they take a good faith step to reach out to you and next thing they know they’re in a holding cell waiting out the full moon, drinking a vile potion that makes them sick, and they can’t see their Pack.” Draco shrugged and stood up. He could smell the bacon was done now. “You want to talk to a Werewolf, you’ll have to do it outside the Ministry, and, most like, you’ll have to deal directly with the Alphas. Mine would have had a fit if any of us had gone within thirty meters of you.” 

It wasn’t until Draco reached the door, hand ready to slide it back, that Hermione turned to him and asked, “Will you help me?” 

He dropped his hand and clenched his fists. “Why do you care so much?” His voice was quieter then he had intended, as if she had pulled the words out of him with her earnest determination. 

“For Teddy. I can’t stop people from telling him his father was a monster, but if I can do this, then maybe people will tell him Lupin was a hero too.” 

Of course it came back to Teddy. Draco squeezed his eyes shut against the thrumming in his body, against the onslaught of Hermione Granger-Weasley’s determination. It was so much easier in Ajax’s Pack, he thought to himself, no pesky Gryffindors asking him to help save the world. 

But then Draco thought of Teddy running in the back garden, fearlessly knocking on the door to his flat and demanding Draco come home, Teddy looking at Draco with such big happy eyes even while he was shifted--thinking it was the coolest thing in the world. Why did it always have to be Teddy? 

Draco squeezed his eyes tight and then blinked them open. “Alright, Granger. I’ll try.” God, Sawyer had never asked him to do shit like this! And then, he thought, but maybe if Sawyer had he would have felt part of Ajax’s Pack the way he felt here in Grimmauld Place. He opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “I’m going to eat, Granger. You could join us.” 

She quickly followed him down the hall and into the kitchen where Andromeda was setting out a large pile of bacon and eggs. Teddy had set the table for three, and when he saw Hermione in the doorway behind Draco his eyes got very big. “Are you here to make nice with Draco?” he asked with a frown. 

Draco frowned right back at him. “Why do you think I want to make nice with anyone?” He took a seat at the table. “We need another plate.” 

Hermione gave Teddy a smile. “Malfoy isn’t very nice, but then I wasn’t very nice either. I was hoping that he and I could make a fresh start, put all that past behind us.” 

Draco pulled his hands into his lap and said to his plate, “That’s a lot of past to put behind.” 

He could feel her looking at him. “I’m not saying I want to be best friends, share bracelets and braid each other’s hair.” She touched his left arm at the crook of his elbow. “Sometimes, you have to make an effort for family, and Teddy clearly adores you.” 

At those words, Draco did look up, looked her in the eye, searched her face for some sort of hidden agenda and found nothing. His stomach tightened, and Draco didn’t think he would be able to eat a single bite of breakfast. 

“Although, I blame you entirely,” she said matter of factly, and Draco suddenly thought he might sick up over the breakfast, “for Rosie’s sudden insistence that we get a big doggie. I thought Ron was going to have convulsions.” She smiled, and Draco’s stomach relaxed. And all three adults sat at the table and listened to Teddy chatter on about how he couldn’t wait for Rosie to turn seven so that she could have a big party and get her very own doggie too. 

* 

Ever since waking up next to Harry, Draco hadn’t slept at the flat. It was as if spending the full moon together, the whole Rosie Incident, and then the Big Conversation with Granger had somehow solidified Draco’s place in that house, made him a member of the family rather than just Teddy’s Pack. And Draco simply could not remember a time he felt this happy. 

Not even as a child. 

It showed at work. He had an earlier shift upstairs, for the afterwork crowd, and Melanie poked him in the arm during the lull around 6pm. “What’s up with you, Mr. Smiley Face?” 

Draco shrugged, but kept smiling. “Had a good weekend I guess, my cousin turned seven.” 

“That was five days ago. People don’t smile like that for some kid’s birthday for five days, they don’t smile like that for mind blowing orgasms. Unless they’re having them every day.” She raised one eyebrow because she’d been practicing and had just started getting good at it. 

Draco decided it was a good moment to go out and clear some of the tables. There was a small group near the bar and another in the corner, but the room generally cleared out a bit around dinner time. There weren’t that many glasses or plates left out, but a few tables had crumbs and several had pages from a dissected newspaper spread across them. He dumped the plates in the bin by the kitchen and took the glasses to the hand wash station behind the bar before going back to collect the paper. It was actually in decent shape, with only one small spill across the classifieds, so he carried it back to Melanie who occasionally read on her break. 

“Here, it’s all out of order, but the pages aren’t grimy or anything.” He handed her the paper all folded up neatly. 

“Thanks. Think I’ll take a smoke break now.” She tucked the paper under her arm and drifted off towards the back for her fags. Draco leaned against the bar and observed the few patrons sitting around the room. It was slow for a Thursday, but the change of pace was sort of nice. Wednesday there had been a particularly rowdy group from some financial company who’d just gotten some truly outrageous bonuses and thought that made it all right to be loud and full of outrageous demands. 

Melanie never took long to suck down a cigarette, and Draco found it hard to tolerate the nicotine on her hands afterwards. But this time, she spent over fifteen minutes outside, and Draco wondered what had kept her. She shook her head, blond curls cascading down her back, as she stepped back behind the bar. It was another practiced move, meant to entice a bigger tip, that had become a general habit. “Some gruesome stuff in that paper, whole flat full of people poisoned themselves like some kind of cult.” 

“What?” Draco accidentally overpoured the beer in his hands. He hated dumping the foam into the spill tray. 

“Yeah, so I guess the police just found this whole group of people, like twelve of ‘em, all dead in a flat in Clapham. Neighbor’s called the police because of the smell. Apparently they all took some drug that poisoned them on Saturday.” 

All the blood drained from Draco’s face, a big group on the night of the full moon. “Do you mind if I read that?” 

“Sure, it’s slow. I left it out on the table in the breakroom in case anyone else wanted to take a look.” She shrugged. 

Draco handed off the round of beers he’d poured and then disappeared off to the brightly lit and disturbingly sterile breakroom. He didn’t actually need to read the paper, the grainy picture at the top of the article was enough to answer his question. He still picked it up and trailed his fingers over the images. That was Nicole and Mark and Rikki and Hayley, and Draco couldn’t remember the others, but they had all gone out one night, met at King’s Head, maybe six months ago? Sawyer and Nicole had hit it off in the loo, leaving Draco to wait it out by the bar. He’d been loose and happy afterwards. 

Draco let his eyes scan over the article, not reading, just picking out words here and there. Cult like activities, all died by the same poison, ingestion, the authorities think, an isolated incident. It had to be a wolfsbane poisoning, but they had taken it before, Draco had personally observed three of them. And where was their Alpha? Why hadn’t she taken the potion and left the others to be? 

Everyone in the house had been holding their breath since Saturday, waiting to see if there would be a pelt found somewhere. Harry had been reading muggle newspapers at tea time, although Draco had been avoiding them fastidiously, watching Teddy be Teddy instead. And now there was this staring Draco in the face. 

Carefully, Draco folded the paper back up, leaving the photo on top; he’d show it to Harry later. 

Around 11, after the second wave of bartenders had arrived, Potter and Val came into Thirst. Draco saw them right away; it still wasn’t busy, but he was in the midst of mixing a round of cosmopolitans for a group of giggly young women. The one was leaning against the bartop, displaying as much cleavage as she could in her button-up blouse and asking if Draco had any other tattoos, if he’d like to show them to her after work. 

“When you get off.” She smiled suggestively. 

Draco slid the four drinks across the counter to her with a small smile. “Darling, if I were interested in women, that would be the best offer I’ve had all night.” It was his standard reply. 

She made a little frown that only wrinkled her mouth. “Why are all the hot ones gay?” 

He gave her what he hoped was an apologetic shrug and stepped back towards Melanie to help her at the till. 

There was a loud cough from the counter, and both Melanie and Draco looked up. Val was leaning on her elbow which was propped on the counter, tapping her fingers and looking quite annoyed. But then, she was the type of person who had a resting bitch face. Potter was next to her, looking drawn. 

That could really only mean one thing. 

Draco stepped up to the counter while Melanie watched. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry reached out and briefly touched Draco’s hand on the bartop. “But we’ve found another one.” 

“A great big red wolf with a crooked tail?” Draco asked quietly. 

“How do you know?” 

Draco straightened up. “I’m off at midnight. Meet me at that diner again.” 

Harry straightened up too, “Alright. In an hour then.” He jerked his head at Val and they both left. 

Draco let out a long slow breath of air to try and calm the hammering in his chest. Unconsciously, he touched the top of his hand where Harry’s fingers had briefly lain, and Melanie noticed that too. 

She stepped up beside Draco to wipe down the counter and said, “He’s the reason you’ve been so happy.” 

“I told you,” Draco kept looking at the door. “It’s not orgasms.” 

“Doesn’t have to be.” She patted him on the shoulder. “It looks serious between you two.” 

Draco heaved another sigh. It had always been serious between them, even at the tender age of eleven. “It’s slow, think Mike will let me leave a little early?” 

“Won’t know unless you ask.” Melanie gave her own shrug and then stepped down the bar to help a customer. “What can I do for you?” 

After just a moment longer of staring at the door, Draco disappeared downstairs, where Mike was training a new hire, asked his quick question, and then gathered his things. He took the newspaper with him to the diner where Harry and Val were already waiting. 

“Thought I’d get you that platter again, have it waiting when you got here.” Harry smiled and Val rolled her eyes. 

They were sitting on opposite sides of the same booth this time and Draco slid in next to Harry. He liked the smell of him in the diner, the greasy foods and the dirt clean smell of Harry mingling pleasantly. It was comforting, and for a moment Draco basked in it. 

“You two should get a room.” Val leered, and Draco smacked the paper down on the tabletop and gave her a dirty look. 

“You might want to look into this too.” He tapped the grainy picture. “That’s Nicole, Mark, Rikki, and Hayley.” He pointed to each face in turn. “Kathleen was their Alpha, a great big red wolf with a crooked tail.” 

“A female Alpha?” Val leaned across the table. 

Draco smirked. “Don’t be sexist.” 

She smacked back against the booth. “You’re a tosser.” 

“And an arse.” Draco rolled his eyes. “What you two know about Pack wouldn’t fill a teaspoon. There are as many female Alphas as male.” 

Harry interrupted the budding argument. “So, we have a dead Alpha and the whole Pack went off and murdered themselves?” 

Draco leaned back against the booth, crossed his arms, and shook his head. “I think there was something wrong with the wolfsbane. Mark was a big guy and had a good tolerance.” 

“And how would you know this?” Val demanded, and then the waitress arrived with the food. 

Harry pulled the paper back, and Draco smiled at the waitress, a different one tonight. They were all quiet for a moment as she set out the various plates, Val with another waffle, Harry and Draco with the full fry up. Harry tipped most of his bacon onto Draco’s plate and passed over a piece of toast. Draco gave him a funny look. 

“Eat, you’re only this cranky when you’re hungry.” He stuffed a fork in his scrambled eggs. 

Draco gave him a wary look before shoving in the toast. Harry gave Val one of those silent, talking looks that Draco couldn’t decipher, but she was quiet while Draco worked his way through most of the toast and eggs. 

Once Harry thought Draco was less hangry, he asked, “What makes you think they were poisoned?” 

Draco pushed his bacon around on the plate with one finger. “Wolfsbane is poisonous, right? But everybody has a different tolerance level, so what would have killed Nicole would have just made Mark very sick. He was the most tolerant Were I’ve ever met, it would have taken two or three times the level of wolfsbane to kill him. And Nicole never took the stuff, except the one time.” He shrugged and then bit into the bacon. 

“Not possible,” Val said. “The Ministry would know about a Werewolf running the streets without wolfsbane.” 

Draco pointed at her with his bacon. “That’s true for a lone Werewolf, but like I said you don’t know Pack. The Pack listens to its Alpha, whether human or wolf, wolfsbane or none. Kathleen was the Alpha, she took the wolfsbane and kept the Pack from running wild. That’s the job of the Alpha, to protect the Pack.” 

Harry let out a sigh. “If that’s true, then the Ministry estimate for the Werewolf population has to be wrong. If the average Pack size is ten, then there must be 1,500 Weres in the city.” 

Draco started to laugh, great big belly laughs that shook his whole body and had him wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to stay upright. It failed, and he toppled over on to Harry. “Oh god, it’s not funny, but it’s so funny!” He choked out before dissolving into the fit of laughter again. “You know nothing!” And then he was practically under the table giggling helplessly and muttering something about snow. 

It took five minutes for him to climb back into the booth. “God, I needed that. I haven’t laughed like that in so long.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh, jesus. What were we talking about?” 

“Werewolf population.” Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, and I get to be Ygritte and you both get to be Jon Snow. You know nothing!” he shouted and giggled again, but didn’t fall back into the fit. 

“Who are they?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah, you need to watch more telly.” Draco shook his head. “How did I get to be the muggle expert. That’s messed up. Anyway, so, there’s like 9 million people in London, right, but only about 1% of them are magical. That makes like 90,000. So, you think 1.5 percent of the magical population is a Were?” 

Both Harry and Val were staring at him with mouths open. “Uh, sure.” 

All the laughter was gone from his face now. “Your number is low, by a lot.” 

“How many are there?” Val asked, her voice suddenly quiet. 

“If I had to guess, I would say about 9,000.” 

And then it got even quieter. “But that’s 10 percent!” 

Draco nodded. “I might be wrong, but it’s not a small number.” 

“How is that even possible?” Harry asked. 

“You think people want to talk about their Werewolf relatives? Even if they hadn’t cut them out? And then you’re forgetting all the muggles that were turned. You have to count them too.” He finished off his bacon. “When I say you don’t know Pack, I’m not exaggerating. There’s so much about it you don’t know.” 

Val leaned across the table and said to Harry. “I need to talk to you for a minute.” 

Harry looked over at Draco who shrugged and slid out of the booth to let him out of the corner. Val pulled Harry over to the door, and Harry almost told her that Draco could still hear but didn’t. “People are going to riot if they find out the number is that high. Robards will have a fit over it!” she whispered in a flurry. 

Harry glanced over at Draco who was stealing the last of Val’s waffle. “Let me deal with Robards. Draco’s right, there is a lot about Packs that we don’t know.” 

“I don’t like it, Potter. That’s a lot of Were’s out there. How are we supposed to patrol for all that?” 

“But that’s why we didn’t know.” Harry said, voice dropping as low as he could. “They didn’t want us to know their numbers, and think about it, if we’ve had no idea all this time, that must mean what he said about the wolfsbane is true, and Weres are a lot less dangerous than we think they are.” 

“People are still going to riot when they find out.” 

He looked over again and thought about those articles he read in the paper. “Yeah, maybe, but they’re wrong. Weres aren’t a problem; there is nothing to be afraid of.” 

When he looked back at the table, Draco was smiling at the waitress and handing her a pile of notes. Then he stood up, looked at Harry, and then began to slowly walk over with his hands in his pockets. He looked as non threatening as Harry had ever seen him, and he had a sudden image of Draco shifted and curled around sleeping Rosie, how careful he had been, how concerned about her safety. The wizarding world was doing the entire Werewolf population a disservice. 

“I’ll see you outside.” Harry patted Val on the arm as Draco came up to them. 

They both watched her walk out the door, and only once she was gone did Draco speak. “Thanks.” 

“For what?” 

He frowned and gave Harry a look. 

“I didn’t do anything, I just said what was true.” 

Draco kicked at the floor. “It isn’t what you said, it’s that you think it’s true. Most people don’t.” 

Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm. “In my experience, most people are wrong a lot of the time, and it’s only when you show them, over and over and over until they can’t deny it any longer that they accept the truth.” 

“Well that’s just shitty.” Draco scowled. 

And Harry laughed because it was true. He let go of Draco’s arm and said, “I’ll see you back at the house, okay? And I’ll look into those deaths.” 

“Yeah,” Draco nodded. “I’ll see you.” 

And they went their separate ways.


	10. A Mate By Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

Draco was lingering outside the pub by design. He hadn’t told Granger that he was going to do this, and she might be inside going a bit spare that he hadn’t arrived yet, but he wanted to make sure the other Weres could see him right away. So, he was leaning up against the wall next to the door nodding at people as they walked inside. 

It was a good turn out so far, but it would be up to Granger and her earnest, impassioned arguments to get anyone to talk to her. And then Draco straightened. Of all the people he had thought he might see, he wasn’t expecting her, in her leggings and tunic with that outrageously large belt hanging off her hips. And the cleavage. God, Draco had forgotten about the cleavage. 

She snapped her gum, planted fists on her hips, and looked at Draco. “I still don’t like you.” 

“As always, Florence, you are a delight and a pleasure,” Draco drawled. 

And then she looked down at Draco’s shoes, and a fission of something ran through all of Draco. “We all know about Kathleen and her Pack.” 

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the grey sky, spared a brief hope for a downpour. “Yeah,” he croaked. 

Florence licked her ridiculous red lips. “I want you to brew for us again. We’re out, and--and--” She looked away again, twisted her head around so Draco could see the tendons in her neck. “We’ll pay. There’s others too. We’ll all pay.” 

It was like some perverse version of a dream that Draco had been dreaming his whole life, to be important, to have those he hated come begging for his help. To be the person who could save and defend everyone. And alright, he was aware how stupid it was to wish he had been Potter, especially now that he had heard how Potter still had nightmares and had seen the scars on his body. But still, he’d wanted it. Hadn’t even realized he had, and here was Florence, handing all of that to him in her shellacked hands. 

It tasted like ash in his mouth. “Ajax won’t like that.” 

“I’ll deal with Ajax.” She licked her lips again, and then bit the bottom one, a sure sign of nervousness. “There’s others too, none of us want--we just want--” she broke off, still unable to meet Draco’s gaze. 

“I’ll do it,” he said suddenly. “Anyone who wants it from me. They’re hunting us down like dogs.” 

She did look up then and bared her teeth in a smile. “Perhaps it’s time someone showed them what wolves do.” She turned towards the pub door. 

And Draco almost reached out to grab her arm, almost, but stopped his fingers just as they brushed against her skin. “You’re going in?” 

“Ajax wouldn’t come.” She nodded towards the door. “But, like I said, it’s time someone showed them who we are.” 

Draco smiled at her then. He’d never liked her, never wanted to spend much time around her in the flat, and Sawyer had been a little afraid of her in a way he wasn’t afraid of Ajax. So yeah, he’d never liked her, there was too much of Pansy in her smile. Florence fluffed up her hair, gave him a saucy wink, and disappeared inside. 

For another five minutes, Draco waited outside. He was now definitely late, but it had been worth it, to see who went inside, to speak with Florence. He pushed himself off the wall and walked through the door. The bell jingled as he stepped inside, and only one person looked up. 

Granger let out a sigh of relief, straightened her papers, and began to tuck them back into her bag as Draco crossed the room. She sighed again as he slid into the chair across from her. “It didn’t work. You’re the only one who showed up.” Her shoulders slumped down. “You realize this is the first thing I’ve ever failed at?” 

Draco leaned back in his chair and gave her a considering look. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He looked across the room and caught Florence’s eye. She’d found a seat at the bar and nodded at him over her cosmopolitan. Cade and Faye and Vale were grouped near her, arguing over how to split the bill for their drinks, but they stopped when Florence leaned over, nearly spilling her breasts in Cade’s ale. 

Nearly as one, all four of them stepped over to Draco and Granger’s table. Granger’s mouth dropped open in shock and she looked between Draco and the other four several times as they took seats. 

“Hello.” Draco greeted them, clasping forearms with Cade and Vale, peeking Faye on the cheek, and laughing at Florence’s raised eyebrows. 

She took her seat at the opposite end of the table from him with a flourish. Faye sat right next to Granger, she was a tiny thing, and most Weres were surprised to see her as an Alpha. But she had a quiet intensity, a way of observing the details other people missed that gave her a lot of power. Her opinion was well respected in this small group. 

“Oh!” Granger grinned in obvious delight. “I’m so glad you’re here!” 

“Everyone,” Draco interrupted before she could begin asking for names. “This is Hermione Granger-Weasley, the Werewolf Support Services Liaison for the Ministry of Magic.” Vale growled low in the back of his throat. His Pack had had a particularly difficult time with the Ministry since Grayson had been added to the Ministry Registration. He bristled too, and nobody at the table bothered to explain, Granger looked particularly uncomfortable, but plowed into her speech anyway. 

“We are trying to instigate some reforms to the Anti-Werewolf legislation and I wanted to speak with all of you to have a better understanding of how these laws impact your lives and what changes could be most beneficial to you and the wizarding populations.” 

Vale leaned back in his chair and pushed his feet into Granger’s space. Draco gave him a glare and a growl as warning, but didn’t push the issue. “Get rid of all the laws. Let the Alphas run the Packs.” 

Granger dutifully wrote that down on her paper, but her forehead was wrinkled with concern. “I’m afraid, because of the magical nature of lycanthropy--” there was a chorus of growls, “that the muggle government has agreed to allow the Ministry to handle Werewolves as they see fit. My goal here is to better understand how the current laws affect you and craft better laws.” 

The little hairs on the back of Vale’s neck were standing straight up, and Draco interrupted before he could speak. “Granger, I think there are some concerns about that. Not all Weres have magic, and as such, cannot even enter the Ministry. They aren’t given voting rights and are unable to participate in the magical society but are expected to follow laws they know nothing about.” 

“But surely that’s a minority of the Werewolf population?” Granger looked over the group before her. 

Florence and Vale straightened in their chairs, Vale practically vibrating with anger. Florence was the one who corrected her. “I can’t speak for everyone here, but in my Pack, it’s fifty-fifty.” 

Vale settled slightly as everyone else nodded. 

Granger wrote that down. “Fifty-fifty? But how did they all survive the bite? It normally kills muggles since they can’t treat it.” 

“They bit a lot of muggles, Granger,” Draco said softly. “And we know of at least one wolf who used to carry silver and dittany, visit hospitals and the like the day after the full moon.” 

“Who?” There were uncomfortable looks around the table, and then Granger realized. “Oh, Lupin did that.” She was quiet again. 

Draco glanced at Florence, who looked at the other Alphas. The whole table was quiet as everybody busied themselves with the alcohol and waited for Granger to speak again. 

“So, Muggles not being able to enter the Ministry is a problem. I can talk to Kingsley about that, perhaps we can come up with some sort of solution.” She scribbled on her paper, and then looked up. “I can’t make any promises, it’s a small number, but perhaps we can create some sort of portkey for them.” 

Everyone looked down at their drinks again. There was a sort of unspoken code among the Alphas, Draco wasn’t sure if they had all gone to some meeting and agreed, or if there was just something about antagonism that convinced everyone individually not to talk, but there were things no one shared with outsiders. Things that Draco had shared with Harry, and that Harry had, apparently, kept from his friends. 

There was a burst of something like joy in Draco, and he said, quietly, “I guess you haven’t been talking to Potter, have you?” 

And everyone looked at Draco, Vale and Cade with irritation, Florence with surprise, Faye with only mild interest. 

“It’s just that it isn’t a small number.” Draco shrugged. “Potter told me that the Ministry believes there to be approximately 150 Weres in the city.” 

Faye laughed, spitting her drink across the table. “Seriously? 150? They think we represent a third of the entire population?” 

Granger looked between them as the four laughed loudly. “You don’t?” 

Draco took pity on her. “No, it’s quite a bit higher than that.” 

“How high?” Her voice was calm and clear. 

Vale grinned widely. “Let’s just say, high enough that if we wanted we could wage war and win, quickly.” 

Granger looked at Draco in alarm. “Yeah, a couple of full moons, it wouldn’t take much before the wizarding population was decimated.” 

“But we don’t.” Faye said. “We don’t want to do to others what was done to us. We just want to live our lives. Your laws,” she pointed at Granger, “Make it near impossible to do that. If the Ministry were to ever raid my den, it would be nearly impossible for us to find a new one. My Pack is numerous.” 

“Packs typically live together,” Draco explained. “It’s important.” He paused and looked around the group before plunging forward. “The close proximity helps an Alpha keep control of the Pack, especially around the full moon.” 

“That’s why bite rates go down after an outbreak!” Granger cried, and then her voice got quiet. “Packs protect the population; they aren’t a risk at all.” She said it to herself, but the Alphas all nodded in agreement. 

“That’s why the rules about the number of Werewolves in one location are unacceptable,” Cade said. “Imagine if one Werewolf on his own was harassed by a group of wizards. Cornered and alone, he might feel the need to fight or that feeling of anger might linger into the full moon and he might become more volatile. In that situation, an Alpha can force the wolf to back down, and being in a Pack makes every wolf feel safer. No Pack follows that law.” 

“That law makes the magical population feel safe.” Granger bit her lip. “It’s going to be a delicate balance, giving you what you need and making them feel safe.” 

Vale growled again. “I couldn’t give a shit about making them feel safe. They break into our homes, they force us to scatter, imprison us when we need the Pack, force that vile potion down our throats.” He growled low and dangerous, and Granger looked at Draco in a moment of fear. “See, even you fear me. This is worthless!” He stood up from the table, and stormed towards the door. 

Both Draco and Granger stood up at the same time with the same intention of running after him. But Granger shook her head at Draco and made for the door quickly. 

“Well,” Florence smiled. She was never happier than when seeing some uncomfortable drama unfold. “That was entertaining, I am so glad I came.” She stood. “Draco, I’ll be in touch about the potion. Are you still staying at that dingy flat?” 

Draco hesitated. “Best look for me at work.” 

“Find a new Pack already, did you?” She frowned. “Haven’t forgotten--” 

Draco shoved her back into the chair and growled, “Don’t you dare!” He pulled back, still vibrating with anger. “You, of all of us, should know that sometimes Pack comes whether you want it to or not.” 

Because Florence had not always been happy with Ajax, had in fact resented him for being the one to bite her. She never spoke of it, never hinted at it, but sometimes, when Ajax got drunk, he would look at her across the room, and his face would go pinched and closed for a moment. He’d told Draco that story, just once, when Draco had first come to the Pack with Sawyer. It was, perhaps, the only reason Draco had any respect for Ajax. He would have followed, as best he could, for Sawyer, but that story made it easier. 

She backed off, her own face going slack and regretful. “You’re right. I should know better than that.” She looked at Draco. “If you change your mind about brewing--” 

“I won’t,” Draco insisted suddenly. “You were Sawyer’s Pack, and I wouldn’t do that to him.” 

Florence nodded, just once, and stiffened her shoulders. “I’ll see you at the club then.” And she gathered her things. “Cade? Ajax had something to discuss with you. Walk me out?” 

Cade shrugged. 

“Brill.” Florence wrapped her arms around his, pressing her voluptuous breasts against him. “It’s about that scuffle last week.” And then they were walking out the door. 

“You’ve changed,” Faye said, “since leaving Ajax.” 

“What?” She caught Draco by surprise. 

“You were never one to care about others. Wrapped up in the little world of you and Sawyer, and now, here you are, instigating a meeting with Ministry officials to improve the lives of Weres everywhere.” 

Draco looked back towards the door, hoping for some sort of escape. 

Faye stood and stepped closer to him. “You know, don’t you, that we all came here because of you. Because she spoke your name, because you stood outside the door and greeted us as if equal in some way. You’re not an Alpha, we would feel that in you.” She stepped back from him. “Why are you here?” 

At first, Draco thought of Teddy, smiling and his voice full of awe as he looked at Draco while shifted. But then the memory of little Rosie curled next to him, sleeping with ease popped into his mind. He thought of Daisy, with her fingers lightly tracing the Dark Mark and her voice just as light as she asked if it shifted with him. He thought of the other one, the nameless victim, and of Kathleen, standing tall and proud with her broken tail. He thought of her Pack slumped over in the picture, and of Sawyer that last night in the tube pressing their foreheads together. 

“Because it doesn’t matter if you’re Pack or not, no one deserves to be hunted down like a dog. We all deserve better than what we have been given.” 

*

Harry stood in front of his wardrobe, slowly buttoning up his shirt. Ginny always said the green brought out his eyes, but as Harry finished the last one he wondered what Draco would say about it. Would he make some comment about Slytherin green, something pithy and smirky? Would he say it matched Harry’s eyes too? Would his eyes merely flick disinterestedly over him? Or, would he come stalking over with his eyes dark and intense the way he had that morning in the parlour? 

Harry swallowed and remembered the heat, the soft press of his nose and the vice of his hands. He remembered the way his skin had prickled and the yearning feeling for more. He wanted that again, he thought, wanted it just as he was about to leave for a date with Ginny. And that wasn’t fair to her. And Harry still didn’t know what Draco wanted, and really, other than the urge to get naked with him from time to time Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted from Draco either. And that wasn’t fair to Draco. 

And then Harry groaned, when exactly had he started caring about what was fair for Draco? He slammed the wardrobe door shut and stalked over to the bed to put on socks and shoes. This afternoon wasn’t about figuring out what was going on with Draco, he was supposed to be figuring out what was going on with Ginny. 

With that reminder, he stood up and went down to the parlour. God it was nice that the floo worked again, no more stepping outside in the horrible weather to apparate. Andromeda was sitting in there reading a book and enjoying the quiet while Teddy was out on a playdate. 

She put the book down, finger marking her place, “Off on your date then?” 

“Yeah, just a bit of shopping in Diagon. Do you need anything?” 

Andromeda pursed her lips and shook her head. 

“Alright then. I should be back in time for dinner.” 

“Draco said to expect him as well.” 

Harry paused in front of the fireplace, hand halfway to the floo powder. It was so strange, the way Hermione had been firecalling to speak with him, had him holed up in the parlour for hours at night making a plan to meet with a group of Alphas. Harry was glad that she was finally making some progress and that she was no longer complaining to him about the lack of it. But the one time he had peeked into the room while she and Draco had been talking, they had been arguing about pub locations and they both had been scowling magnificently. And Harry just wasn’t sure how this whole partnership was going to work out. 

“Harry?” Andromeda asked, more than just his name loaded into the question. 

Harry nodded, mostly to himself. “Yeah, well, I’m going now. Enjoy your afternoon.” 

“You enjoy yours.” She gave him another smile that was also loaded with unspoken words. 

But Harry took a pinch of powder and stepped into the fire. “The Leaky Cauldron.” And he was popping out into the grimy bar where Ginny was waiting. 

She slipped out of the booth and smiled brightly up at him. “Hullo.” 

Harry offered her his arm, because he liked to feel her pressed against his side, and she wrapped her hand around him, tucked herself in close as they stepped out into the busy street. The buildings towered over him haphazardly, as if only magic was holding them up. And that was probably true for a lot of the buildings. They were still under construction, and some shops were still painfully closed, like Fortescue’s. 

“You look beautiful.” Harry turned his attention from the street to Ginny. She had her long hair pulled back in a thick plait, and Harry liked how open her face looked. He smiled and breathed in. She’d put on perfume, and his smile faltered slightly because there was no way Draco wouldn’t know he’d been with Ginny. Not that it was a secret, but--but Harry was pretty sure last time he and Ginny had a date Draco had gotten sick in the kitchen. 

“What?” Ginny pulled back a little and fixed him with a confused look. 

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Because this was supposed to be figuring out what was going on with Ginny, not Draco. “What have you been up to since the party?” They moved leisurely through the crowd towards Flourish and Blotts. 

“Just visiting.” She smiled again, “I just got back this morning from Bill’s. Little Victoire is getting so big. I mean, not as big as Teddy, but still, I can’t believe she’s six already.” 

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. They’d gone to Victoire's birthday party a few months ago, back when he’d been on day shift. “They really do grow quick.” 

“They’re going to be enormous next time I’m back in town.” They passed the bookstore and strolled down towards Gringotts, where the crowd thinned out a bit in the open space. 

“Yeah, about that, when do you think you’ll be back?” 

She paused in the middle of the street and pulled her hand out of Harry’s arm. “Well, we’ve got a pretty full schedule, could be the summer before I get another week or two.” She shrugged. “You know that.” 

Harry nodded, because he did, but summer, that was still ages away and only a few weeks? All of a sudden Harry was tired of this. Tired of waiting, of a few dates here and there, of the occasional attempt to date someone else only to have them ask about Ginny. And all of a sudden, in this moment, standing in front of Gringotts, next to the woman he thought he was going to marry, all Harry wanted was to go home and sit across the table from Draco and watch him scold Teddy for putting too much on his plate. “What are we doing, Ginny?” He put his hands in his pockets. 

“What do you mean? We’re shopping.” But she had to know that wasn’t what Harry meant. 

“No, I mean us, what are we doing, a couple of weeks every few months, some nice dates followed by months of no letters or firecalls because we’re both too busy to remember? I’m an Auror and I’ve got Teddy, I can’t be following you around like a groupie. And you’ve got your whole career ahead of you. What are we doing?” An elbow from a passerby caught Harry in the back, and he realized they were standing still in the middle of a moving crowd. 

Ginny licked her lips and made no motion to move. “I always thought, when I was older, ready to settle down, that we’d get married. I love you, Harry,” she said, a little bit earnest and a little bit sad. 

“But when is that, Ginny?” Harry continued. “I love you too, but I am ready, I’m settled and I don’t want to keep waiting.” 

She squished her face up in one part confusion and one part dislike. “What are you asking, Harry? Because I am not ready to give up Quidditch. I haven’t hardly started, I’ve got years left of good playing.” 

And didn’t that just answer Harry’s question. “I can’t wait years. And-and I’m not asking you to give it up, anyone who’s ever seen you fly knows not to do that.” 

“Is this your way of breaking up with me?” She cocked her head to the side looking not quite as upset as Harry had thought she would. In fact she looked about as upset as Harry felt, which wasn’t much at all. 

“I guess it is.” 

“Have you met somebody?” 

And Draco flashed through Harry’s mind, pale skin flushed and maybe laying in Harry’s bed, him curled up on the bed as a wolf, the way he smiled at Teddy mostly happy but sometimes just a little sad. “I don’t know that I would say that, exactly.” 

She bit her lip, and then took his arm, steering the two of them back into the moving crowd and down the street towards Madam Malkin’s, which was now run by her son. “It’s Draco Malfoy, isn’t it?” 

Harry startled badly and pulled away a little, but she just held on tight and pulled him along. “Oh, come on, I have spoken with Ron, and if you think Hermione’s kept that from him, you’ve lost your mind. I’m not going to pretend I understand it even a little, but I know he’s practically living with you now. And I know--I know what he is.” 

Harry sighed. “It’s complicated. He’s not living with me, not exactly. It’s more about Teddy.” 

“Oh please, you think that line works on anyone? You’ve been so caught up in him forever. Maybe not so much lately, but if you’re lightning, he’s the tallest tree around, and that’s probably not ever going to change.” 

“He’s got a Mate, well, had a Mate anyway. That’s not something you just get over.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well, if you want to see what’s going on with him, that’s fine with me.” She shrugged then. “And if it doesn’t work out, well, maybe we can pick up again when I’m back in town. Let’s go there, I need some new polish.” She pointed at the broom shop, which had no name at all, just a picture of a broom on the sign. 

And Harry let her pull him across the street without thinking much about where they were going or what they were doing. Because, even if this thing with Draco didn’t go anywhere, he didn’t think he would be taking back up with Ginny next time she was in town. 

* 

Draco, Teddy, and Andromeda were already seated and eating when Harry got back from his date with Ginny. They’d ended up having quite a nice time after all, mostly window shopping and laughing through the late afternoon. Harry was sure to pay for it around 2am, in the middle of his shift, but it had felt good to while away a few hours doing absolutely nothing important. 

Teddy was busy talking, explaining all about school, sharing the bird he had painted, spilling food all over the table in his excitement. And Harry couldn’t help but smile and laugh lightly, and try to catch Draco’s eye. Andromeda was also quietly happy, in that way she had where she almost smiled and even added a few details to Teddy’s story. 

“His teacher was very pleased,” she said. “Teddy did an excellent job sharing at school today.” And then it was a story about blocks and crayons that Teddy half told, and Andromeda actually smiled. 

At the end, Teddy gathered up his dishes and skipped them into the kitchen. “That’s all thanks to you, you know,” Harry said to Draco who looked up, startled, from his plate. 

“Me?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, a little furrow of confusion on his forehead. “You’re the one who has been talking to him about things that are his and things that belong to everyone and the difference between the two.” 

Draco pushed peas around his plate. “Oh, I’m glad it’s working then.” He stabbed his fork into the chop steak and then let it sit there, hand limp on the stem of the fork. 

“Are you alright?” Harry peered closely, leaning forward onto the table. 

“Fine.” Draco let go of the fork and leaned back in his chair. 

“Is this a moon thing?” Harry asked. 

Draco’s eyes darted up to him, and Harry realized Draco had been avoiding his gaze the whole meal. He reached forward and picked up his own, still mostly full plate. “No.” The chair scrapped angrily across the floor as he stood, at least, Harry thought it sounded angry. “Please excuse me.” 

Harry looked at Andromeda who shook her head and gave a miniscule shrug. They both heard the back door open and shut. “I’m going to see what’s going on.” And then Harry was carrying his plate to the kitchen before stepping out into the pleasant evening air. 

Draco was standing underneath one of the trees with his hands shoved in his pockets and looking up at the leaves. He didn’t move until Harry stepped closer, and he didn’t say anything. Harry shivered once in the wind which was blowing straight in his face. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

Draco sucked in a deep breath through his open mouth. “Nothing, nothing’s going on with me.” 

“Really? Because you hardly ate, you won’t look at me, and you’ve barely put two words together all through dinner. That’s not like you.” Harry reached out a hand, and Draco stepped back. 

He clenched his jaw and his hands tightly for a long moment. “You’re not my Alpha. You’re not my mother. You’re not my lover.” He bit his lip. “You’re barely a flatmate.” he swallowed and then continued. “If I’m tense or-or moody, it’s none of your business.” 

Harry leaned back as if Draco had slapped him. “I thought that we were at least friends.” 

“Friends?” Draco snarled. “Friends?” He crossed the space between them in one long step and leaned forward, not touching, not nearly close enough for that, and breathed deeply through his nose. 

Smelling him, Harry realized suddenly, Draco was smelling him, smelling Ginny on him. It flashed through Harry’s mind, the image of Ginny clutched onto his arm, head falling onto his shoulder in laughter. What could Draco tell from the scent? 

“I don’t think we can ever be friends, Potter.” Draco was bent over just slightly, just enough to put their mouths on the same level, bent the right amount for a kiss, if Harry dared to lean up, if Harry was quick enough. 

But he wasn’t, and Draco was pulling back, straightening up, stepping away. And the setting sun was glinting on his hair, and he looked just a little bit lost and just a little bit feral. Harry stood there as Draco walked back to the house, back impossibly straight and head impossibly high. And for the first time, Harry wished, desperately, that he could talk to Sawyer, that he could ask how Sawyer had managed to tame Draco? 

A voice in the back of his mind said that even if Sawyer had tamed Draco, did Harry want to? Did he want Draco with his head bowed, following his orders as if he were an Alpha? Didn’t Harry like seeing Draco tall and proud and prickly? 

He let out a sigh. There would be time later to deal with that, right now there was work to get to. He followed Draco into the house, heard the sounds of Teddy’s laughing in the bathtub, and Andromeda washing dishes by hand in the sink. 

Harry paused in the kitchen doorway. “I guess I’m off.” 

She paused, but didn’t put down the plate in her hand. “Alright then, have a good evening.” 

“Thanks.” Harry squeezed the molding just once before pushing off and down the hall to the floo. It really was good to have the floo working again. 

There was something comforting about the regular hustle and bustle of the Auror Office, and it was easy to shed any lingering unease from Draco. Harry let the lull of the conversation around him wash over, he nodded at those who greeted him, and he gave a friendly hello when prompted. 

And then Robards was standing in front of his desk, exchanging strange pleasantries with Val who had her hard-auror-here face on, the one she usually used when keeping the public from a crime scene. Not a good sign. 

“Ah, Potter, just who I wanted to see. You two, come with me.” And then he was storming the narrow halls and Aurors were ducking into the nearest cubicle or flattening themselves against the walls in an effort to stay out of the way. Robards inspired that kind of action. Harry was pretty sure he was the only one who was immune. But then, Harry had faced down Voldemort, so, maybe he was. 

Robards office had a large wooden desk with two spindly chairs in front. Rumor in the office was that the chairs would break under any Auror who withheld information. Harry had his doubts, but Val braced her legs wide. 

Robards sat heavily in his plush leather chair, hands on the arms and back painfully straight. In a weird way, he reminded Harry of Malfoy, except Malfoy did those things defensively while Robards did them to intimidate. “We’ve received the toxicology report.” He picked up the lone file on his desk and dropped it loudly in front of Harry. “As you suspected, Wolfsbane poisoning. But there’s no evidence of foul play. These kinds of accidents are the reason we require licenses for brewers.” He folded his hands in front and looked expectant. 

Reasonably, Harry realized as he opened his mouth to speak. “Sir, I understand that, but my source identified the alpha, and according to my source--” 

“The Werewolf population is not so big.” Robards frowned spectacularly. “I would not be surprised if your source was able to identify every Werewolf in the city. In fact, it would be excellent for him or her to do so, so that we might better protect the population.” 

“And which population are you trying to protect?” Harry spat out. 

Val braced herself. 

“The _entire_ population, Mr. Potter.” Robards leaned across his desk threateningly. “Now, unless you have some evidence that proves this accidental poisoning to be anything else, we will not get involved in problems best left for the Police.” 

“And you wonder why Weres don’t want to come in and be registered, with such faith that crimes against them will be taken seriously.” Harry stood up. 

And so did Robards. “I will only tolerate this behavior for so long, Mr. Potter before you find yourself desked.” 

Harry reached forward and snatched the toxicology report. “Yes sir.” And then he turned and stormed from the office, leaving Val alone for a brief moment. 

She caught up with him outside the conference room, where the night shift was already gathering. “You are going to get sacked if you don’t watch yourself.” 

“He can try,” Harry bit out. 

Val grabbed his arm. “I’m serious, Harry. That whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thing is only going to get you so far for so long, and once you reach the end of that, no one is going to listen to you.” 

Phillips pushed between them to get into the room, and then Harry stepped up close to Val to say quietly, “For my entire time at Hogwarts, people told me I was wrong, that Voldemort couldn’t be back, that Snape wasn’t doing something, that the DADA professor was fine, that Malfoy couldn’t possibly be a Death Eater.” His voice dropped lower. “I may not have had the details right, but I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t wrong then, and I’m not wrong now.” 

Val let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not that I think you’re wrong, I just think you’re picking the wrong battle. Are they really worth losing your job for?” 

And Harry said without the slightest bit of hesitation, “Yes.” 

Inside the room, Harry took a seat in the back and flipped open the toxicology report which he carefully read over while Jenkins gave his usual nightly speech. There wasn’t much to it, just the wolfsbane levels and truthfully, Harry didn’t understand what those numbers meant. They didn’t even seem that high to him. Underneath the wolfsbane was hyssop, and Harry’s heart stuttered to a stop. And then he quickly looked up and through the room, at the other Aurors. He’d have to talk to another potioneer, probably several to be sure, but Harry had added a comment in his report about the hyssop. A whole paragraph actually on that conversation, on his source stating the wolfsbane was an art not a science, that different wolves had different reactions, that the color of the flower could affect the potency, that hyssop could improve the effects for the wolfsbane. 

How common was it to adjust the wolfsbane to the drinker? How common was it to add other ingredients? How pissed was Robards going to be when Harry went asking those questions? Technically Harry wasn’t pulled from the case yet, but this line of questioning could definitely get him thrown off it. 

He cast a quick glance over at Val. He trusted her to have his back, but did he trust her not to go running to a supervisor? Would it be better to do this on his own? That had consequences for court, no corroborating witnesses, and Harry looked around the room. If it was an Auror who was involved, then it would be important to have an iron clad case. He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute, debating. 

And then everyone was getting up, having their assignments, and Val was looking at Harry who was stuffing the toxicology report into his pocket. She raised her eyebrows, and Harry shook his head. This was definitely not the place he wanted to have this conversation. They gathered their things and apparated to West End. 

Val let him walk in silence for a whole fifteen minutes, letting him think through various conversation openers and differing arguments. “Just spit whatever it is out, Potter.” 

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “I want to pursue the poisonings.” 

“Of course you do.” She sighed loudly. “You are worse than a dog with a bone sometimes. What is it that’s got you all in a tizzy?” 

“There was hyssop in the potion. I need to know how common it is for the brewers to include that.” His voice was quiet. 

“Why hyssop?” 

“Draco told me he puts it in some of his potions to increase the mind’s control over the wolf, and I wrote that in my report.” 

“Shit, you think it’s either him or--” 

“One of us.” 

Val whistled. “Robards is going to shit kittens.” 

Harry crossed his arms and looked at the pavement. “Maybe it’s common, maybe that’s a thing potioneers do sometimes.” He said it because maybe it was true, Merlin knew Harry wasn’t good at potions. But he didn’t think it was true, and based on the look Val was giving him she either agreed or knew he didn’t think that. 

“Come on, then.” Val nodded towards a side road. “I know a woman, potioneer, not licensed for wolfsbane, but she lives close, and maybe she knows something.” 

Val led the way to Wheatley Street to a beautiful brick maisonette, and then rang the bell for an Ingrid Gladstone. She answered the buzz with an aggrieved,”What?” 

“Hullo, Ingrid, Val here.” 

There was a sigh of someone long suffering followed by a, “Oh alright, I guess you can come in.” And the door unlocked. 

“How do you know this woman?” Harry asked as they made their way to her front door. 

Val shrugged. “She and my mum are friendly, I guess.” 

“You’re mum actually likes another human being?” Harry asked, because in all the stories he’d heard from Val, her mum seemed like a dedicated misanthrope. 

“They tolerate each other anyway.” Val knocked just once on the front door, and waited for Ingrid to open it. She kept them waiting for several minutes. 

When the door finally did open, it revealed a tiny, tiny woman who hardly looked tall enough to stir a cauldron let alone lift one. “Your partner’s Harry Potter?” She inclined her head at Harry. “To hear your mother tell it, he’s some hothead devil.” 

“Yep, lucky me, I got the Chosen One and all that.” Val gave her a toothy smile. 

Ingrid looked Harry over from his scuffed shoes and denims to his unbuttoned coat. “Well, I guess you’d better come in.” She pulled the door open all the way and tottered into the living room. “Candy on the counter, if you want some.” 

Val followed quickly after her, and Harry after Val looking through the room. The walls were that odd color halfway between cream and tan, bright white ceilings and very modern looking crown molding. The furniture was all antique wood, carved with long graceful lines and intricate patterns, and the mantel around the fireplace was a huge monstrous thing that should have been at odds with the delicate craftsmanship of the furniture but somehow fit. 

Ingrid seated herself right in the middle of a plush sofa, and Val made a beeline to a leather wingback chair, leaving Harry with a choice of matching spindly chairs that looked almost as uncomfortable as they felt. Ingrid smiled at him, and Harry was pretty sure she was enjoying his discomfort. Draco would probably adore her. 

“So, what brings the intrepid Auror pair to my doorstep at nearly 10 at night, hmm?” 

Val said nothing and fixed her attention on Harry with a bemused smile. 

“Well, it’s a case. Val says you’re a potioneer?” 

“Hm,” Ingrid frowned, “I don’t consult for the ministry, and I certainly don’t brew for them either. I’m quite busy with my research, young man.” 

“I was wondering what you knew about brewing Wolfsbane,” Harry corrected. 

“Lots of money to be made with that one now.” Ingrid tucked her feet up underneath her, and pulled a thick afgahn over herself. “Very difficult to brew though, and even experienced potioneers sometimes can’t stand to watch their customers drink it.” 

“Why is that?” 

She pursed her pale lips at him. “Even you can’t be as simpleminded as to ask that question.” 

Harry bristled. “I’m trying to verify some information, that’s all.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Tolerance levels to the wolfsbane, makes the drinker quite sick, and the potion has to be tailored to the drinker. Most people don’t enjoy watching someone die, and it’s impossible to know just how someone will react to the potion until they drink it.” 

“So it would be easy to accidentally poison someone then?” 

She lifted her shoulders in a silent, of course. 

“What about a whole Pack?” 

Her face softened at that. “I saw that in the papers. Such a shame, all those young people dead. An amateur could certainly do that, but I suspect most Packs know better by now.” 

Harry took the toxicology report out of his pocket and handed it to her. Ingrid took a brief glance, and then pulled the glasses off her head and put them on. Her small finger traced down the page and her lips moved as she read. They both stuttered to a stop when she got to the wolfsbane. “So high? That’s five or six times the lethal dose for any man. Hyssop?” She said to herself, and then looked up at Harry. “I would call this murder. No potioneer worth anything would put that much wolfsbane in the potion. The hyssop is interesting though.” 

She handed the paper back, and Harry asked, “Why?” 

“Well, there’s not been much interest in improving the potion.” She tucked herself back up. “Hyssop has some properties that improve brain function, it’s possible that with it’s addition, the drinker may need less wolfsbane…” Her voice trailed off. “It’s really a very interesting plant. I would be very interested in speaking with whoever began adding this to the potion. It may have other benefits to the drinker, depending on variety and preparation techniques.” 

“What kinds of benefits?” 

Her eyes snapped to Harry. “Well, I couldn’t possibly say without speaking to the brewer, but very interesting ones, I’m sure.” 

“Would you say including hyssop as an ingredient then is not something many brewers would do?” 

“I would say tampering with a potion as difficult and potentially dangerous as this one is not something most potioneers would dare. In fact, only those of us interested in the research would dare to do such a thing.” 

Harry looked at Val who was already looking at him. “Well shit, Potter. Of the options, I was really hoping it wasn’t this one.” 

“It’s a lead,” he pointed out. 

“Fuck,” Val replied. She stood up, and Harry followed suit. “Well, thanks, Ingrid, it’s been very helpful.” 

“Give your mother my best, and make sure you say it in a chipper voice, you know the one that irritates her the most.” Ingrid didn’t move from her seat on the sofa, just reached forward for the remote to flick the telly back on. “You can show yourselves out, I’m sure.” 

Harry followed Val out into the lobby and then the street outside. “It’s got to be airtight, Potter,” she said as soon as the door shut. 

“I know.” He looked down and then up. “Shit, it’s one of us.” 

“You don’t know that.” Val pierced him with a hard glare. “You said Malfoy told you about the hyssop. Could be him.” 

“It’s not him,” Harry growled, suddenly and fiercely angry. The very idea that she would say that boiled in his stomach and his fingers itched for his wand. “He wouldn’t do that.” 

“He’s a Death Eater, why wouldn’t he?” she growled back. 

“He wouldn’t do that to his own. In case you forgot about him being a Were and all.” 

“Hate makes people do crazy things.” 

Harry stepped up into her space. “He wouldn’t do that.” 

“You don’t know that,” she said just as angrily, just as loudly, not backing down a bit. “He spent his whole life hating halfbreeds. He did terrible things during the war, you don’t know that he isn’t doing it now.” 

Harry pushed her, hard, enough to knock her back several feet. “He didn’t do it.” 

Val sighed deeply. “Merlin, you’re stubborn. I don’t think he did it either, you twit. But other people will. You won’t just need proof that someone else did it, you’ll need proof he’s innocent too. Because they are going to come after him when this comes to light, and it will come to light.” 

“You believe me, then?” Harry asked, all the anger suddenly deflated. 

“For fuck’s sake Potter, I’m not an idiot. Like you said, maybe you aren’t exactly right about all this, but you aren’t wrong either.” She took another deep breath. “Come on, let’s just finish this shift, alright? We can figure out what to do about all this after I’ve had a little time to adjust.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Harry fell in step next to her as they made their way back to their patrol. 

They didn’t speak much, but Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it, running the faces of all the Aurors through his mind, trying to decide who would have access to his reports, who would have motive, who might have opportunity. 

Harry went through every Auror pair, every receptionist, Booking, Records, and Evidence, anyone he could think of who might have access to the Auror department. Terry Boot was the only other Auror from Harry’s year at Hogwarts; he seemed unlikely, but then they weren’t that close. Beckett and John had expressed anti-Were sympathies, although of the two, John was a lot more vocal--Harry remembered from getting the pelts out of Evidence. Josephine, Hughes, Michaels? Harry wasn’t sure as they’d never really talked about it. Emmerson? Probably not Emmerson. Jones and Sampson from booking? Maybe? Thompson and Aziz definately anti-were. 

And then there was Val. Harry watched her. She was somewhere in the middle, never expressed any hate or vitriol, but then she’d made no secret that she didn’t like the trouble they caused. Couldn’t be ruled out as much as he wanted to. 

All this suspicion put unhappy feelings in Harry’s stomach, and when they stopped to eat around 1am, he could hardly swallow a bite. He choked down half a sandwich under Val’s scrutinizing gaze before giving up and throwing the other half out. She didn’t say anything until they were outside. 

“Full moon’s next week. Whoever is doing this is probably out looking now.” 

Harry pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears against the cold. Sawyer, Daisy, Kathleen, Draco knew most of the victims, at least well enough to identify them. Ajax and his Pack weren’t far, and Kathleen’s lived close too. “S’a good chance this is the hunting ground too.” Fuck. All the Auror pairs in West End had to go on the suspect list, including Val. Harry closed his eyes and wished he’d brought paper of some kind to keep track of all this. 

Val nodded. “Maybe we should scope out some of the more popular clubs. Maybe we’ll see something.” 

Harry nodded. It was unlikely, but better than stewing in his own thoughts. “King’s Head is over there.” Harry pointed towards the left. “That’s popular with some of the Packs.” 

“Think it’s the decor?” Val tried to joke, but it fell flat. 

Harry gave her a grimace for a smile anyway, and she clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Potter, we’ll catch them. Nothing stands in your way.” 

That was true, Harry thought grimly, nothing ever did stop him when he’d set his mind to it. “I’ve got the cover.” He nodded, and they crossed the road. 

King’s Head was just as strange as the first time, with the bizarre animal heads and the enormous stuffed bear. In a moment of panic, Harry scanned around the room to see if there were any wolves mounted on the walls, but he didn’t see any. He and Val split, each working one half of the club as they usually did. Harry tried to stroll casually, hands in his pocket, eyes scanning the crowd as if he were just here to pull. It wasn’t as busy as last time, but then, it wasn’t a Friday night either. 

Harry stepped up to the bar and ordered a water, leaned against the counter and scanned the crowd. There was a couple on the dance floor with particularly grabby hands, a girl sobbing into her drink at a table not too far away, and a man down the counter seated at a stool caught Harry’s eye and splayed his knees wider. Harry stared at his crotch for half a second before catching himself, shaking his head, and gratefully taking the water from the bartender. 

Most of the patrons were dancing, and Harry, possessed by some nervousness he hadn’t felt in years, decided to check them out. No one looked especially rowdy, but it was impossible to identify a Were when they weren’t shifted, except by a charm. He pushed into the crowd and tried to sway a bit in an effort to blend in. Not that it mattered, in all the tightly packed bodies. 

It was tricky, stepping on the beat of the loud music, trying not to stomp on toes and shove himself through pockets of space barely big enough to slip a piece of paper into, but eventually, Harry made his way in and back out of the crowd. He scanned the edge, mostly looking for Val, wondering if she had seen anything, wondering if she would say if she did. 

There was a flash of bright white hair under a spotlight, and Harry’s stomach dropped to his feet. Draco. 

Draco was here! Standing at the edge of the crowd, legs and arms tangled around some strange bloke, hand playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. He was smiling, with his tongue pinched between his teeth, other hand straying down towards the swell of the stranger’s arse. And Harry froze for a heart beat, his fingers went numb and his feet were like lead. 

Didn’t Draco know there was a killer looking for people like him? How could he take a risk like this? How could he put himself in harm's way? Didn’t he understand what that would do to Teddy? What it would do to Harry? 

He was storming over even before making a conscious decision, and he wrapped a hand around Draco’s bicep, burning like a furnace. (And smooth, and it was Draco’s skin, and Draco’s arm, said a small part of Harry’s brain set on repeat.) He pulled and Draco stumbled, and his bloke friend locked an arm around Draco’s waist defensively. (Draco’s waist, Draco’s waist.) 

But when Harry didn’t let go, they both turned to look at him, and several things flickered across Draco’s face. The only thing that was important in that moment to Harry was that Draco dropped his hand from the strange bloke’s neck and arse. Harry’s stomach moved up somewhere around his knees. 

“Potter?” Draco shouted. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry shouted back. 

“What am I doing here?” His mouth curled in a confused sneer. “What are you doing here?” Harry watched his nostrils flare as he sniffed the air. 

What was Harry doing here? Oh, yes, looking for a serial killer who might be out on the hunt right this very moment looking for an unsuspecting Were, might even be this bloke still pressed from knees to waist against Draco. “You shouldn’t be here!” 

Handsy Bloke put his hands possessively on Draco’s hips, lined them up more favorably with his own, and then put his mouth on Draco’s ear to say something. Harry reached out again, yanked on Draco’s arm harder, pulled him out of Handsy Bloke’s reach. “Do you even know him?!” 

And again Harry watched Draco’s eyes go wide and then narrow, he looked down and then up, the muscles in his cheeks twitched slightly. “What’s it matter to you if I know him or not?” He yanked his arm out of Harry’s hand and crossed his arms across his chest. 

What did it matter to Harry? It shouldn’t matter to Harry. Except that he’d just broken things off with Ginny. Except that he thought there was something between him and Draco, had wanted to see what that thing was, wanted to know what it was like to be pressed close to him. Like Handsy Bloke was. 

Had Harry been wrong? Something in his face must have shown because Draco relaxed his arms and he had those open grey eyes. “I just--” Harry swallowed, uncertain about what to say. Was he wrong? 

Draco’s shoulders lifted in a big sigh. “Just spit it out, Potter.” 

And Harry reached out, put his hand on the back on Draco’s neck so that he could lean forward, foreheads pressed together. “I just want you to be safe. I want you to go home.” He pulled back, and Draco was sort of breathless. 

“I can take care of myself,” Draco reminded him. 

Harry nodded, short jerky movements that did nothing to change the way he stared at Draco. “Yeah, you can.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I have to find Val. I’ll see you at home?” He turned away before Draco could say anything. 

Val was now by the bar, tapping her hand on the bartop and scanning the crowd for Harry. He stepped up to her, shoulders so tense they were nearly at his ears. “Something happen?” she asked. 

Harry shook his head, didn’t turn to look at Draco who was probably still visible, probably back to dancing with Handsy Bloke, hands in his hair and mouths so close they might as well have been touching. Harry swallowed. His stomach was back up where it belonged, but pitching and rolling, and he could almost taste the bile at the back of his throat. “Let’s go.” 

Once outside, he paused to look back at the club. What would Draco say at breakfast? What would Harry? 

They walked in silence for nearly five minutes, before Val broke it. “What’s got you in a tizzy?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Seriously?” She pulled up short. “So, I didn’t see you in there quarreling with Draco Malfoy?” 

“It wasn’t a quarrel.” Harry said sullenly to the pavement. “It’s just dangerous for him to be out, what with a serial killer on the loose and all that.” 

“Uh huh,” she said with no sincerity at all, “And it didn’t have anything to do at all with that bloke trying to put a baby in your man.” 

“He’s not my man.” Harry scowled at the pavement again. 

“Because you’ve got the Weasley Girl.” Val said, and Harry did look up at that. 

“Actually, no, I broke it off earlier today.” 

“And why did you do that?” she asked. 

Harry looked back down the road the way they had come. He hadn’t been dissatisfied with the whole thing with Ginny until just recently, hadn’t thought there would be anyone else he could imagine living at Grimmauld Place with him and Teddy and Andromeda. “Fuck.” 

Val chuckled, threw an arm over his shoulders, “Oh to be young and dumb. Come on, lover boy. I know a Potioneer who opens up his shop at seven. We can stop by after we’re done with the patrol, see if he knows anyone brewing illegally. Nothing takes the mind off a wayward lover like a murder.” She laughed again, but it was warm and gentle and not at all mocking, and Harry let her steer him down the street. 

* 

Draco sat at the table quietly all through breakfast, eating only absently and mostly listening for the floo. It wasn’t until Andromeda reached in front of him for his plate that he realized breakfast was over and Teddy had disappeared into the parlour for his shoes. 

“I’ll take Teddy this morning,” she said, picking up his fork and carrying the whole mess into the kitchen. 

“Huh? Oh.” Draco put his hands in his lap. He was so fucked, and not in the fun way. 

“Did you want to talk about it?” Aunt Andromeda reappeared in the doorway. 

Draco stood up and shook his head. He kissed her on the cheek as he passed into the kitchen. “No.” Because this was so much worse than Sawyer, and in the whole of the night, the only conclusion Draco had been able to come to was that he was just fucked, utterly, completely, terminally fucked. 

He paused in the parlour to ruffle Teddy’s hair and drop a quick kiss on his head, and then he went upstairs. He took them slowly, one at a time, listening to each creak and sigh of the wood under his weight. Harry wanted him to be safe, to be home--he couldn’t have expressed his caring any more loudly than if he had taken out a television ad. Draco sank down on the bed in front of the window and watched the traffic go by. What would happen when Ginny eventually moved in, as she was sure to do? And what would happen when she left again, to play in the Americas or for a long trip to Australia or Japan? Because Potter cared, and Draco wouldn’t be able to say no. He put his hand up on the glass, too much of a coward to say no. 

He heard Andromeda and Teddy open the front door, watched them walk down the steps, waved when Teddy did. He watched them until they turned the corner for school, and then he watched the cars go by again. Counted the white and black ones, tried not to think of anything at all until he heard the floo roar to life, and Potter’s steps on the stairs. 

His heart was pounding as each step got closer. Would Potter go straight to his room? Would he pause at the loo for a shower? Would he be quick and efficient and then go to the kitchen for breakfast? 

The steps reached the top landing, and Draco strained to hear all while keeping his eyes fixed on the street and seeing nothing. They came down the hall, passed Potter’s room. And stopped. Clutching his knee tight to his chest, Draco turned and looked at the doorway. 

Where Harry was perfectly framed. With his messy hair and his dirty street clothes and that look of relief, as if he expected Draco to be somewhere else. 

And while Draco was doing all of his looking, Harry was doing his share too. Handsy Bloke may have gotten to put his mouth on Draco, press up against him, put his hands in places Harry wanted to. But he didn’t get to see Draco like this, with the worn joggers and no shirt, with the morning sunshine turning his hair almost a butter yellow, soft and easy. And maybe Harry wouldn’t ever get to see him with his back arched and his face twisted in pleasure, but he got to see this soft version of Draco. 

“I didn’t stay,” Draco said suddenly. “I came home.” It seemed so important all of a sudden, to explain, to make Harry see how he felt, how he didn’t have expectations and how he could keep all those feelings to himself, and how it was okay if Harry wanted to marry Ginny and move her into his room next door. That Draco could be okay with whatever happened as long as he didn’t have to leave. 

Harry couldn’t explain the rush of feeling that ran through him at Draco’s words. He didn’t stay, he came home. Instead, he crossed the room in three great strides, cupped Draco’s face, and kissed him. Poured everything he couldn’t say into that kiss, tried to make it gentle to keep his lips soft and his tongue and teeth to himself, but Draco opened his mouth. 

And he licked into Harry, and it was hot and wet and tentative, as if Draco wasn’t sure how Harry would respond. And until that moment. Harry hadn’t been sure at all what he was doing, just that he needed Draco, needed him to be in the house, to ruffle Teddy’s hair, to fight with Harry and to look at him with those big grey eyes. He needed to put his hands in Draco’s hair, to feel it like he had his fur. So Harry did, ran his hands up the sides of his face into the soft short hairs at the base of his neck, through the long strands on top. They slid through his fingers like fine threads, the slippery ones that feel so soft and warm. 

Draco mewled at the feel of Harry’s hands in his hair, surged up against him, hands tangled in his shirt, pulling them both down onto the bed. Harry was shorter, but broader and Draco felt safe underneath those strong shoulders, felt as though nothing could touch him here except Harry. He arched his back, pressing them together, and they both gasped at the contact. Harry ground himself down harder, pressing Draco firmly into the mattress. Draco slipped blazing hot fingers underneath Harry’s shirt, trailing them up over hard muscle and then down to slip into the gap between his trousers and skin. 

Harry growled, low and loud, and he pushed down harder, nipped at Draco’s lower lip, pulled on his hair, needed him closer, needed his skin. He slipped a hand between them to trail his fingers across Draco’s stomach where that skin was soft and perfect. And he needed more. 

Harry’s fingers found the elastic of the joggers, curled around it, nails scratching, and Draco whined. Harry stopped, pulled back to look at him. His cheeks were flushed with color, his lips bitten pink, and his eyes were half lidded with desire. But he opened them when Harry’s hand tightened on the joggers without pulling them down. 

There was something uncertain in Harry’s expression. “What are we doing?” Draco asked, voice low and soothing. 

Because Harry was just laying there, pressed on top of him, looking down and thinking he wasn’t supposed to get to see this. Wasn’t this for other people? Wasn’t this for the bloke in the club and Sawyer? And Sawyer and Draco had been Mates. Draco was grieving, and this, this wasn’t right. 

But he wanted it. “I--I don’t know.” 

Draco brought his hand up to Harry’s face, ran it lightly over the stubble there, enjoyed the soft-prickly feeling of it. “I don’t care about Ginny. I can--this can--” But he wasn’t sure exactly what it could be. 

Harry shook his head. “I’m not with Ginny.” 

“But yesterday--” 

“We broke up.” 

“Oh.” Draco smiled. “Oh!” He pulled gently, pulled Harry down for another greedy kiss. 

But Harry wouldn’t be pulled. “Sawyer, your Mate.” 

Draco blinked in confusion. “What about Sawyer?” 

Harry sat up, legs still pinning Draco’s hips to the bed. “Aren’t you still grieving?” 

Now Draco’s whole face was wrinkled in confusion. “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with this?” 

“He was your Mate.” 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and giggled, just one giggle at first. But then it was like the breaking of a damn and he laughed, full throated, head tossed back, hands holding his shaking belly. “Oh god, just when I think you couldn’t possibly know less!” 

“What?” Because now Harry was starting to feel confused and just a little angry. Here he was, trying to be sensitive and understanding and considerate, and Draco was just laughing and laughing and laughing. 

“Friend, Harry! Sawyer was my friend. We were-it wasn’t like that with us. Mating, like a one and only, that’s not a thing!” 

They weren’t Mates, they were _mates_. “I really don’t know anything, do I?” Harry asked, smiling down at him. Draco reached both his hands around Harry’s shoulders, felt the definition of the muscles there, ran his fingers firmly across his shirt. “I don’t know. I bet there’s something you know.” He pressed his hips up, pressing the length of them together. “I bet there’s a lot you know.” 

Harry groaned and wrapped his hands around Draco’s face, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss. Draco moved his own hands, pulling at the zip and button of Harry’s trousers, sliding his hands in and down, determined to take Harry in whatever way he could. Determined to feel and taste and smell as he licked into Harry and stroked him and breathed deep the scent of freedom.


	11. The Running of the Wolves

Draco was walking home from work, passing through a large crowd waiting to get in The Tipsy Sailor when he felt a sharp stab in the back of his thigh. He stopped and looked down at the syringe with the plunger already depressed. 

“Fuck.” He wrapped his hand around the plastic and yanked it out. It hurt like a bitch, and couldn’t possibly mean anything good, but the shock of it still paralyzed him for a moment, until someone knocked into his shoulder jostled him back into movement. How long did he have? Would he make it back home before it--he stumbled a step. Okay, not long to start working, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it home. Or to a safe place. 

If it took alcohol seven minutes to hit the bloodstream, then--Draco leaned against a building and tried to catch his breath. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking, and the muscles in his left thigh were throbbing. He jerked his head up and tried to look around. Where had the people gone? Where was the crowd? He’d be safer in a crowd. 

But he couldn’t see, couldn’t get his eyes up off the pavement, just rubbish and cigarette butts and a crushed durex box. 

“Oi, you look like you’ve had a bit too much there,” said a deep voice Draco didn’t know. And then there was a strong arm slipping under his shoulder and hoisting him up a bit. “We’d best get you someplace where you can sleep it off, eh?” 

Draco tried to mutter something about going to Grimmauld Place, but his lips didn’t seem to move right. 

“Shhh, I’ll get you some place. It’s going to be marvelous, just you wait and see.” 

Draco tried again to speak, but his vision was going and it was hard to think now, sluggish and thick in his brain. He did have one last thought before passing out, that he needed to get home to Teddy because the full moon was in two days. He’d promised. 

* 

Harry came in the front door, just as Teddy was running down the stairs. “Harry!” He shouted, shoving his face into Harry’s stomach and scraping his fingers painfully across his skin as he tried to clutch on to Harry. 

Teddy was sniffling, loudly, and abruptly Harry realized he was crying. “What’s going on?” He pulled Teddy up into his arms, and watched as Teddy pressed his hands into his eyes. 

“Draco’s not home. We have to go find him and Mama said no. And-and he’s supposed to be here. He promised he would be here.” He threw his arms around Harry’s neck and sobbed into his shoulder. 

Harry patted him on the back and started down the hall to the kitchen. “There, there, I am sure he’s just at the flat. He had to brew more of that smelly tea for some of his friends, remember. I’m sure everything is just fine.” 

Andromeda was taking the last of the pancakes off the stove when they stepped into the kitchen. “Look there, Andromeda made your favorite, blueberry pancakes. Let’s have some breakfast, and then if Draco isn’t home by then, I’ll walk you to school and go check on him at his flat. And I’ll make sure he walks by the school so you can get a good sniff and know he’s alright. How does that sound?” 

Teddy sniffed but nodded, and they all sat down to breakfast. It was subdued with Teddy stabbing the blueberries silently with his fork. Harry looked at Andromeda and mouthed, how long? 

Her forehead wrinkled and she shook her head. Draco had to be at the flat, it was the only answer that made much sense. He’d said that the potion was very difficult to brew, and he had four different ones to brew up as several Packs didn’t have enough for the whole week. Maybe something had gone wrong with the brewing? 

They all ate in silence, a strange thing that hadn’t happened to Harry since Teddy and Andromeda had moved in. The whole meal was disconcerting, and the pancakes felt heavy in Harry’s stomach. 

“Shall we head out, sprog?” Harry asked when it was clear Teddy wasn’t really eating. 

He nodded eagerly as he climbed off the chair to find his shoes. Andromeda put down her fork too. 

“Did he come home last night?” Harry asked quietly so Teddy couldn’t hear. 

“I don’t know,” Andromeda replied. “He had the closing shift. Teddy woke up agitated this morning and went straight into your room, as if he knew Draco wasn’t there.” She picked up her tea, but didn’t drink. “I’m sure you’re right. He must have gone to the flat and been caught up with that potion.” 

Harry nodded. That had to be it. 

Teddy came back into the dinning room with his shoes on, tied even, jacket, and bookbag. “I’m ready.” 

Harry gave him a big smile, “Well then, let’s go.” 

They held hands for the whole walk, and Teddy pointed at a bird’s nest he’d found yesterday. And he showed Harry the daffodils that were blooming, and he stopped to watch a line of ants walk over a crack in the pavement. And it was nice to see him so interested, even if he wasn’t speaking with his usual excitement. 

Harry left him in the care of his teacher and then briskly made his way to Draco’s flat. He didn’t answer the intercom when Harry buzzed, so he waited, buzzed again and then quietly spelled the door open. Maybe Draco was just sleeping, maybe he’d been up all night working on the potion and had fallen asleep on that horrible little bed. 

Harry knocked on the door, loud enough to wake the neighbors, but there wasn’t a sound from inside. “Alohomora.” Harry tapped the door, and then walked inside. The room was dark, but clean. The bed underneath the window was made, and the potion carefully bottled and labeled for distribution. But Draco was most definitely not here, probably hadn’t been here at all since yesterday. And the full moon was tomorrow. 

After only a single moment of hesitation, Harry put all the bottles in the canvas bag Draco used, and left. Now it was only a question of what order to do things in. Should he deliver the potions or report Draco missing first? Time was short for both, but Harry didn’t know where the potions needed to go. To the office, report Draco missing, then to Ajax’s to drop off the potions? No, other way. Ajax might know if Draco would be somewhere else, after all, they had lived together for four years. 

So Harry closed his eyes and apparated quickly to Harrowby Street. He knocked loudly on the flat door, and then waited for a full minute before knocking just as loudly a second time. 

“I’m coming!” someone growled from inside. The door opened, and Harry had just the nearest peek at a woman dressed in only a blue sports bra and the tiniest pair of flannel shorts Harry had ever seen before the door slammed shut again. “Fuck.” 

Before Harry would have knocked again, knocked louder, perhaps even tried to force the door. But now he knew better, knew to wait patiently for Ajax to come to the door, which he did only a moment later, dressed in nothing but cargo shorts. “What?” he growled through a crack on the door which still had the chain on it. 

“I brought wolfsbane. Have you seen Draco?” The two sentences ran together, and Ajax froze for a moment. And then the door shut for a second time. 

Impatient and starting to panic, Harry raised his wand to open it, but there was some talking and then the sounds of feet hurriedly moving, and before Harry could utter a spell, Ajax opened the door wide. 

He stepped back and padded over to the kitchen leaving more then enough room for Harry to stand awkwardly in the entryway. “Florence, Potter, Potter, Florence.” Ajax nodded between Harry and the woman seated on the sofa in nothing but lingerie. 

Florence didn’t acknowledge Harry, but her nose widened, and Harry wondered what she could smell. “Umm, I wasn’t sure where all of this was supposed to go.” Harry held out the tote, open so that Ajax could see all the bottles. 

Ajax leaned a little to see before taking the bag from Harry. “Where’s Draco? Not like him to not make a delivery himself.” 

“He didn’t come home last night. I was hoping you might know where he would be.” Harry licked his lips, heart beating in his chest loud enough he was sure everyone in the room could hear. 

Ajax and Florence exchanged quick glances, and then Ajax spoke again. “You two are fucking, right?” 

Could they smell that on him? God, that had been yesterday morning, and Harry had showered! He nodded anyway. 

“And he’s got Pack too?” 

Harry nodded again. 

“At the full moon?” Florence put her arm on the back of the sofa. “He’d be with you. Full moon is all about family and fucking and fighting.” She licked her lips and held Ajax’s gaze. “Nothing gets you hotter than the full moon.” 

“But-but if he was going to go somewhere else, where would he go?” Because he had to be somewhere. There had to be some-some club or-or friend or diner where he’d go and be all night and not worry about letting Harry or Andromeda know. Someplace he was safe and breaking his promise to Teddy because he was a wanker and not--because-- 

“That’s not the way it works, sweetie.” Florence shook her head. 

“Damn.” Harry muttered under his breath. He was going to have to muster a man hunt, get every Auror he could out to scour the city. It was less than thirty-six hours until the full moon, it wasn’t much, but surely they could find him with all the resources at their disposal. Harry sucked in a deep breath and apparated, because it wasn’t like he was breaking the Statute of Secrecy. 

The Auror department was a very different place at 10 o’clock in the morning versus 10 at night. In the morning, Aurors were busy at their desks, writing reports, making appointments with suspects and victims, and reviewing evidence. They were walking briskly between the small kitchenette and the conference room for meetings and joking with their partners. Memos buzzed through the air as both internal and external communication. 

And Harry had once been a busy part of all of that. He’d been angry when Robards had reassigned him, his coworkers had seen it as a demotion to be on the night shift, a street crawler or brawler depending on the night. There were several shouts of “Harry!” as he made his way to Robards’s office, lots of quick claps on the shoulder, and a few asked, “Back with us?” 

But Harry had more important things to do and didn’t reply, didn’t even slow down until he was spelling Robards’s door open and then slamming it shut. “We need to get a task force together to search the city for Draco Malfoy.” 

Robards was in the middle of drinking his tea. He took a long sip and leaned back in his chair. “What?” 

“Draco Malfoy is missing, kidnapped and we are going to find his remains in a few days if we don’t act now. We need everyone available to scour the city for him.” Harry repeated, feeling a bit like he was talking to Teddy about why it was important to knock before opening a door, exasperated with intentional stupidity. 

Robards took another long drink. “How long has he been missing and what makes you think his corpse will be found?” He raised his eyebrows in a way that said, I have children too and they are teenagers so you don’t scare me. 

Harry raised him a clenched fist. “It’s the full moon. I’ve been working the Werewolf case. We believe the Were goes missing in the few days leading up to it and then a few days after we find their pelt. Now, Draco Malfoy has gone missing and I am sure--” 

“Draco Malfoy is not a Were,” Robards calmly interrupted. 

Harry blinked at him, caught in a moment of shock and horror. “He is.” He shook his head slightly and continued. “We know the murders take place during the full moon because the only evidence we find are the pelts.” 

“We would know if Draco Malfoy was a Werewolf; he would be on the registry,” Robards interrupted again. “Potter, I understand that you are in a unique situation with your godson and Remus Lupin, but this kind of behavior--” 

“What are you talking about?!” Harry shouted. “I am trying to tell you that a murder is about to be committed and you are saying what? That I’ve taken this all too far because of Teddy?” He stared at Robards. “Draco Malfoy is going to die if we don’t do something!” 

Robards stood up, his chair banging into the wall behind his desk. He leaned over, pushing his face into Harry’s, and Harry realized that he had his clenched fists on Robards’s desk and was pushing into that space as well, challenging him. “Potter! That is enough! We find wolf pelts, not bodies, this case is one of vandalism until such a time as the Wizengamot declares Weres to be Beings during their shifts rather than Beasts. I understand your irritation at the minutiae of the law, but we are instruments of that law, the strong arm. And we must obey to the letter. So, until you come to me with the body of a murdered Werewolf, there is nothing that I can do.” Robards very specifically sat down and looked down at a pile of papers. 

“But sir!” Harry refused to back down. “I am telling you now, if we don’t do something, if we don’t treat them like the people they are and take crimes against them just as seriously they are going to revolt against us! Doing nothing to save Draco will make everyone less safe!” 

“I have made my decision, Mr. Potter. Now, kindly, get out of my office before you say something you regret.” He smacked the papers against the wood of his desk loudly. 

“Just because you are too bigoted to see the reality right in front of you! God! Merlin!” Harry raked at his hair and smacked the desk. “You know nothing!” Was this what it was like for Draco every time they talked about Pack? 

“You are desked, Mr. Potter, two months, followed by a review of your behavior in the workplace. I cannot tolerate this level of insubordination! Now, get out of my office!” Robards shoved his chair back again and glared at Harry with his mouth in a thin pinched line and his face slowly turning the bright red of Teddy's firetruck. 

Harry could feel a tick on his face, the one next to his eye that only seemed to come out when he was dealing with Robards or other stupid people. He opened his mouth to argue and then just as quickly snapped it shut. No wonder Weres hated Aurors, if this was how they were always being treated. No, Harry would have to save Draco himself. He shoved off the desk, threw the door open, and stormed the apparition point so forcefully he got several papercuts from memos that couldn’t get out of his way fast enough. 

* 

Draco woke up chained to the wall of a closet. At first all he could see were the long coats and dresses that brushed against him, ugly shades of brown and navy and green. It was dark, and he stretched out a foot and got his knee bent about halfway before pressing up against the other wall. He looked up, but couldn’t see anything. 

There was some grunting and gasping, and Draco tried very hard not to breath for several moments as panic flooded his body. He was chained in a closet while two people were having sex in the room! Sex! They were getting off on him being chained in a closet! Draco scrambled, kicking the wall and pulling on the chains and trying desperately to push himself farther into the corner, as if he could melt into the wall. 

They had to have heard the rattle of the chains and the banging of his feet, and Draco heard a deep laugh, a man, and then. “I guess it’s awake then.” 

And then. “Don’t stop!” from a woman and more grunting and gasping and oh god, Draco was never going to have sex again! This was-this was- 

His brain stuttered to think. 

This was the end. He was going to die. He was never going to walk Teddy to school again, or watch him play in the garden. He was never going to lay next to him on that tiny bed while Harry read. He wasn’t going to have tea and biscuits with Andromeda or see those small secret smiles she hid from most of the world. He was never going to smell Harry again, never run his hands through that unruly hair or kiss the corner of his mouth or--or-- 

Draco made some sort of noise half way between a growl and a whine and tried to bury his face in his knees. How had it come to this? He bit his lip and tried to keep the sobs in. Keeping a stiff upper lip was a lost cause. 

There was a final stuttered grunt and then just the panting of the well fucked, and Draco began to dry heave onto the floor next to him. A thin yellow dribble of bile was all that came up, and the smell stung his nose. 

“Shut it!” Something smacked against the door of the closet and Draco startled farther into the corner. 

“It’s so much quieter than the last one,” the woman said. 

Draco heard the bed groan as one of them got up, and then soft footsteps around the room. 

“At least it’ll be gone tomorrow.” The man said, his voice still coming from the right. The woman must have gotten up. 

Draco breathed through his nose. It stank of sex and sweat and something sickly sweet, honeysuckle. It clung to his nose like the bile, and Draco swallowed against the urge to sick up again. 

“Have you decided where you’ll put it, after it’s all done?” The man asked. 

The woman sighed, her steps faltering slightly. “Not yet. But someplace close. I wanted to do King’s Head, but it’s so full of all those stuffed heads, I’m not sure anyone will notice a wolf pelt.” 

“That’s true. It would be the perfect place, if we could be sure someone would see it.” 

The mattress creaked a little as she climbed back in. “We have a few days to decide.” There was the wet sound of kissing. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” She giggled. 

Draco clutched a hand to his mouth and tried to breath. Tried not to think of Harry or Teddy or Andromeda and instead thought of Sawyer. How Sawyer might have been in this very closet, might have felt this very fear, might have hoped and prayed for Draco to rescue him. 

But there would be no rescue. 

No one cared about one paltry Werewolf, especially one with the Dark Mark on his arm. 

* 

There was nothing for it, Harry was going to have to search the city by himself. He decided to start with Thirst, to see if someone there had seen something, maybe Draco leaving with someone? He marched up to the door, but the lights were out and he couldn’t see anyone inside through the windows. There was a woman leaning against the wall, dressed in tiny shorts, a cut off shirt and denim jacket. She was leaning there, filing her nails and occasionally glancing at Harry. 

It was her wardrobe that tipped him off, and Harry marched over to her. “I’m looking for Draco Malfoy.” 

She looked at him for a heartbeat and then put her nail file down. “I know.” 

“Who are you?” 

She shoved a hand towards his chest. “Alice. Ajax asked me to come here and see--well--” she grinned, “smell what I can smell.” 

“Oh.” Harry took her hand. “Harry Potter. What do you smell?” 

Alice took a deep breath, “Not Draco. It’s a bit of an overload, to be honest.” She pressed her lips together. 

“He was here last night, working,” Harry said. “Shouldn’t you be able to smell him?” 

She shrugged. “Usually. It’s not a good thing, that I can’t.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve got the best nose.” 

“What do we do?.” 

“It’s hard to track without a scent, but not impossible.” She bit her lip. “It takes a Pack.” 

“It’ll take more than that.” Harry punched the wall, and then Harry had a thought. “You got a mobile?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve got to make a call.” 

Harry rang Hermione, and then Alice rang Ajax who didn’t answer. So then she rang Florence, and there was a hushed exchange that Harry couldn’t hear. When she ended the call, Alice gave Harry a grin. “You’re place, five o’clock. We’ll get as many as we can.” 

“Fine,” Harry barked. “Let’s go.” 

And then they went back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry stopped outside the gate. “Are you muggle or magical?” He asked suddenly. 

“Witch, but Ajax doesn’t like the wands, so not really practicing much.” She shrugged. “It’s Fidelious, right?” 

Harry nodded and then looked at the house only he could see. It was one thing to give the address to Draco, and quite another to give it to this strange woman. He’d kept it this way to keep out reporters and other nosy people. 

“I’ll wait out here.” She shrugged. “Give a whistle when people start to show up, and you can let them in.” 

Harry put his hand on the gate and then looked out at the street. “Five is a long time from now. I should be out looking.” 

She put her hand on his arm. “Go, get some sleep. It’s going to be a long night, and probably tomorrow too. You can’t save him if you're too tired to stand up.” 

And still Harry hesitated. 

It was only when the door opened and Andromeda looked at him, that Harry went inside. “I didn’t find him,” he said once the door shut. “But I think his old Pack is going to help me look. Maybe more. I don’t know. They’re all coming here tonight.” The exhaustion hit like a train, and Harry slumped against the wall. “What am I going to tell Teddy?” 

“I am going to go get him, right now.” Andromeda said decisively. “This is a time for family to be together, and he should be here. And we are going to tell him that Draco is missing, but that we are sure we are going to find him and that lots of people are going to help us, and everything is going to be alright.” 

Harry nodded weakly. He looked at the stairs, three flights up to his room seemed so far, and the sheets probably still smelled like Draco. He glanced at the parlour; the sofa would probably offer up more restful sleep. 

“And Harry,” Andromeda said with her hand on the door handle. “We are going to find him, and everything is going to turn out just fine.” 

He nodded, and Andromeda stepped out. He didn’t see if she stopped to talk to Alice or if they exchanged acknowledging nods. Instead, Harry hauled himself into the parlour, and collapsed down on the sofa where he slept fitfully for a few hours, until the floo roared to life and Hermione stepped through. 

“Oh, Harry!” she said as Harry blinked groggily at her. And before he was able to sit up all the way, she’d crossed the room and pulled him into a hug. 

Harry pulled her in tight, clenched his fingers in her shirt so hard it hurt, and buried his face in her shoulder. She traced light circles along his back and made soothing noises while Harry squeezed his eyes shut and just focused on breathing. 

“It’s going to be alright,” she said in a soft voice. 

And Harry pulled back abruptly, “I don’t know that. He’s probably been kidnapped by people who kill Werewolves,” he said, his voice rough and broken. 

“Well, we are sure as hell going to try.” Hermione replied, angry. “And I’d say, based on what we’ve done before, that’s worth quite a lot.” 

They both paused as Andromeda opened the front door and a large group of people stepped inside. They were boisterous and jostling each other as she led them down the hall and through the kitchen into the dining room. 

“I think that’s our cue.” Hermione said, voice gone soft again. 

Harry nodded briskly, squeezed his eyes tight one more time, and then followed the noise. It was the first time that table had ever been full, he realized. There was a mix of men and women, some playing with wands, others tapping their fingers or toes or even leaning back in their chairs. They were all dressed in very light clothing 

And they’d left the chair at the head of the table empty, and Harry had to blink rapidly for a moment. Because that was a sign of respect, a sign he most certainly would not have recognized before. “Right.” He took the seat. 

There wasn’t another chair. Hermione stood in the doorway, looked everyone over, nodding at the few she recognized, trying to smile at the others. They looked between her and Harry mostly with confusion, but one of them rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. 

“I’m not giving up my chair.” He said in what Harry was sure was an angry tone. 

But Hermione just laughed lightly. “I wasn’t expecting you to, Vale. Thank you for coming.” 

He shrugged. “It’s Draco.” 

“And the ones hunting us.” Faye spoke up. She’d taken the seat opposite Harry, at the foot of the table. “It’s time that we start showing the world just what we are capable of.” 

“You cannot speak for all of us.” Ajax growled, but didn’t rise. “Some of us prefer the lives we live now.” 

“Was Sawyer not part of your Pack, and Draco by extension? Would you be cut down like Kathleen and her’s? Picked off, one by one until there is nothing left of any of us?” Faye asked calmly, her eyes boring holes into Ajax who refused to look away. 

“We are here for consensus, not infighting.” An older man said from somewhere in the middle of the table. He was dressed in shabby clothes with shaggy hair and nails that needed to be clipped. He looked at Harry. “To be clear, we have come at your bidding, to assist you with your Pack, and we have some expectations of your behavior, Auror.” 

Harry quickly glanced around the table and saw open hostility on many of the faces at that word, and after this morning, Harry really couldn’t blame them. 

“Harry is--” Hermione started. 

But the Alpha spoke over her. “Confidentiality for one, respect for another.” 

Harry nodded just once. “I can assure you that anything learned or spoken here will remain here. I’ve no interest in reporting any of this to the Auror department. I am only interested in finding Draco and bringing the people who have been murdering you to justice.” 

“And can you guarantee there will be justice?” Another growled. 

Harry opened his mouth, but Faye spoke again. “We cannot expect one man to speak for the entirety of the wizarding government, even if that man is Harry Potter. We make this deal here with you, Harry Potter, and should you break our agreement, we will take our vengeance on you.” 

“Fair enough,” Harry agreed. 

There were grumbles around the table at Faye’s words, but then Vale, the one who had been angry with Hermione spoke. “There are benefits to us for doing this as well. As Draco would have said, if he were here, this is our chance to find the ones hunting us like dogs.” 

There was a chorus of growls. 

“So, we are agreed then? To find Draco and the ones who are doing this?” 

Some said yes, some thumped fists on the table, some nodded, but all agreed. 

Only Ajax was quiet. “And what will we do when we find them? Hand them over to the Ministry who makes our lives so difficult? Who also treats us like mangy dogs only slightly too human to be put down. We cannot be sure they will give us justice.” 

Harry stood and looked the Alphas in the eye. He tried to acknowledge each one individually, to see their faces as they were. Faye was small but mighty, Vale tall and angry, Ajax strong and yet nervous. The older Alpha also looked nervous, and that was fine, that was why Harry was standing, to offer some sort of reassurance. “You have to turn him in. If you--” what would they do to the culprit? “If you try to take justice into your own hands then the Ministry will come down on you hard, they will increase their patrols and crack down on access to potion ingredients and--” 

Hermione interrupted Harry. “Actually, I don’t think there is much the Ministry can do that will make a difference to the Packs as a whole.” She licked her lips. “There are so many more of them than we knew, which means they aren’t getting wolfsbane from the wizarding world, Harry. They aren’t impacted significantly by the patrols now.” 

Vale leaned his chair back on two legs and beamed at her. “We want to live in peace, as long as we are treated fairly.” 

Faye smiled at Vale. “I believe, perhaps, a compromise can be reached.” 

The older Alpha spoke, “Not with them.” He jerked his head at Harry. “If we do this, then we do this. Not him, and not her.” 

There was another chorus of approval, but Ajax stared at Harry. “We can’t just leave him out. He’s Draco’s Pack.” 

“He’s not an Alpha!” 

“He’s Draco’s Pack!” Ajax was standing now, and Harry was floored at the vehemence in his words. 

“And what can he do? Can he track? Can he hunt? Can he run with us? He’s just a wizard.” 

“Hey! I’m the wizard who defeated Voldemort!” Harry shouted back. “I took on the Ministry during the war and fought in the battle of Hogwarts. I died! And it didn’t take very well, did it?” 

There was silence at the table at Harry’s outburst, and Harry stood there, at the head vibrating with sudden anger. 

Faye is the one who spoke. “Harry is Pack, we don’t leave Pack out.” Her gaze flicked to Harry. “But the murderer is ours to do with as we see fit. You will be here, and we will bring you Draco.” 

“I can fight,” Harry insisted. 

Faye cocked her head to the side. “And if we need you, then we will call you. Many of us are magical, after all, we can apparate if needed.” 

“Not in wolf form,” Harry pointed out. “What if he needs medical attention? How will you get him to St. Mungo’s?” 

Vale bared his teeth. “I’ve hyssop potion. Surely some of us here can take that.” 

“We do too.” A woman said. 

Two others nodded. 

“What does the hyssop do?” Hermione asked. 

Vale fixed her with a fierce grin. “You’ll see.” 

Ajax looked at Harry. “Your Draco is truly, quite brilliant. And if a single one of you tell him I said that I will personally bash your teeth in.” 

There was a round of laughter that Harry and Hermione didn’t understand. 

“Alright then, one dose of Hyssop per Pack, if possible to those with magic.” Faye nodded at everyone. “I will take the dose for my Pack.” 

Vale growled. “No. No hyssop for you, Faye.” 

She fixed him with a soft look that made several people there uncomfortable and they looked away. “It isn’t just me or Draco or one Pack. We need to show everyone what we are capable of. We need to show them who we are.” 

“Not you.” Vale growled again. 

Faye straightened in her chair and stared him down. “I am not your Pack, and this is not your choice to make. You can’t do this, but I can.” 

“Fine.” Vale relented. “But I will be there with you.” 

She smiled, and the tension at the table went back down. “Alright, we are out in force tonight then, and if we don’t find him tonight, tomorrow we will all meet here for the hyssop and then hunt.” 

* 

Draco could practically feel the sun going down, could feel the moon rising in power. He’d tried not to hope throughout the night and day he had been chained in the closet, tried not to think of Harry and home, but he had not been very successful. Now the sun was setting, and the shift was coming. 

And there was no wolfsbane to tame the beast. 

Draco put his face to his knees. He wanted to be glad of the light filtering in through the open door, but he knew it was only open so that he might get out when the shift came. They intended to hunt him down just as they had the others, and there was very little left to hope for. 

The sun went down, and Draco felt the sick clench in his stomach. It always started in his stomach, the twist and the squish and the pull as organs shrank and moved, and Draco heaved against the chains around his wrists. Then came the tremors, the shaking and pulsing of his skin so that it jumped as the hair started to come in, thickening, poking new holes in his skin. His bones cracked as they changed, and Draco was grateful when he could finally slip from the cuffs and hit the floor with four paws. 

It was an assault on the ears and nose, the noise and the scents overwhelming and impossible. And Draco whined low and rubbed his snout against the floor. Hunt! Pack! He sniffed for the scent of his prey strong in this place. He breathed again, to keep the sickening flower and the musk of the man close, tried to ignore the other scents that threatened to distract him. 

Carefully, he nosed open the door where there was less of poison for the small insects and more of the sickening flower that was also poison. The smell was stale, but only by a few hours, Draco would catch them, sink his teeth into their flesh and tear. 

He howled for the hunt. 

There was an opening and the scent of stale air tinged with something putrid, but the sickening flower and the man musk went with the putrid, so Draco followed it. He listened, ears twitching for the sounds of prey, but only heard the cacophony of abuse that seemed to stem from everywhere. 

He trotted silently down the hall to the strange hill that swished back and forth and tried to trip his feet. But Draco was light footed and kept his feet underneath him despite how the ground fell away in short sharp drops. There was the scent of Not-Prey-Prey, the potential of Pack wafting off of them and calling to that deepest part of him, the part that was always hungry. For a moment, Draco sniffed the air to find those who might be Pack and then shook his head. He had Pack. 

Outside in the night, where the putrid smell was the worst, Draco paused and thought of his Pack, of the cub who curled so tightly to him and the woman who fed him and the man who mated with him. They were not like him, not like his old Pack, but they were still his, and Pack was best for the hunt. 

He sniffed for their scent, and found no trace in the air. Draco whined, and Not-Prey-Prey screamed and let off an overwhelming smell of terror. Draco ignored that and focused on his pack. The cub was too small to hunt, and the woman to be protected, and the man--he was a good hunter. Draco would need the man to catch his Prey. He howled a call to his Pack and smelled the air for his territory, but this place was strange. 

Draco hesitated in the putrid air as more screaming assaulted his ears and the metal beasts roared across the Black Not-Water. He sniffed, and there was something of the Man-Prey. Not knowing where to find his Pack, he followed the Man-Prey with an easy, loping stride. There was other prey around, and the metal beasts, and the smell of smoke and cooked meat that he ate in his other form. And there was the Man-Prey. 

Draco chased him, howling his anger, one part call to Pack and one part warning to the Man-Prey. 

_Brother!_ There was another, one of the Not-Pack. _Not that way. Follow!_

Draco growled for this was his prey and he would feel the Man-Prey’s neck break in his jaw. 

_Let me take you to your Pack!_

But Draco shook his head ignoring the strange way this brother spoke in favor of his prey; the Man-Prey needed to die. 

Draco had not gone far, having paused to cross the Black-Water twice before there was more screaming from the Not-Prey and more of the Not-Pack. Three of them, and they smelled of the Crackle. The Crackle did not come from them, but from some other wolf, a Not-Wolf-Wolf, who crackled into the air in front of Draco with the Crackle Stick. Draco had a Crackle Stick, but no way to wield it in this form. 

“Draco! Stop!” The Not-Wolf-Wolf cried with the Crackle Stick held out towards him. 

Draco leapt over him, too intent on the Man-Prey to be stopped. 

There was a painfully loud crack when the Not-Wolf-Wolf disappeared, and for a moment Draco could not hear and the scent of the Crackle overwhelmed his nose and he could not find the Man-Prey. 

_Brother!_ The Not-Pack called again. _Hunt with us. Let us hunt him together!_

And Draco paused, because Not-Pack could not be trusted the way that Pack could, but Not-Pack was better than no Pack at all. He huffed his assent, and the four of them took off down the white path that ran along the Black Water. 

More Not-Pack came and went as they ran, chasing off the Not-Prey and leading the way until, finally, Draco reached his own territory. He felt the calm of home and smelled the sickly scent of alcohol and heard the laughter of foolish prey, but he could not smell the Man-Prey. His scent had disappeared. Too many scents clogged the air, and Draco raised his nose to breathe deeply. 

The Not-Pack waited, because they did not know which scent Draco followed. He shook his head and tried again. They moved slowly through the shrieking crowds, and there was the scent of the Crackle again. And then Draco smelled the Pack-Man. 

He paused and turned to look at the Pack-Man who smelled so strongly of all the things Draco longed for. There was fear and relief on his face, and then, Draco smelled it, smelled the Man-Prey standing behind the Pack-Man with a long stick held in his hands. Draco had never seen the long stick before, and at first he wondered if it was part of the Crackle, but then, surely he would have seen one before. 

A sharp crack rang through the air, and the Not-Prey screamed even louder and the smell of fear passed through the air in huge waves. He looked at the Man-Prey, at the fierce expression as unimaginable pain tore through Draco, burning into the side of his belly. 

He howled, and the Not-Pack took off after the Man-Prey. 

But the Pack-Man ran towards Draco, wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in his neck. And then there was the scent of the Crackle and another sickening-twisting feeling in his stomach, and then nothing more.


	12. The Morning After Is Always a Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are guys! I will be posting the last chapter and the epilogue next week, we are almost at the end!

Harry apparated into the busy lobby of St Mungo’s. “Help him!” he shouted. 

The people closest to him drew back in horror, many of them screaming, and all of them trying to get farther away from the blood-covered Harry Potter and the wolf in his lap. Overhead, the Welcome Witch was calling for security and assistance. Harry heard another crack of apparition, and tightened his grip on Draco. He pulled his wand. 

“Mediwitch!” A woman shouted as she pushed her way through the crowd. She drew up to her full height as soon as she saw Harry and Draco, and after only a moment of hesitation was at their side. “Did he take his potion?” 

Harry shook his head. “Kidnapped. He’s been shot.” 

She nodded and tapped her wand on Draco’s head, “Nunc Somnun. That should keep him asleep. Where was he shot?” 

Carefully, Harry levered himself out from under Draco as he’d been shot on the side pressed close to Harry. His shirt and denims were soaked with drying blood, and it was caked into Draco’s thick fur. 

“Of course, you’d have to be an arctic, wouldn’t you? Couldn’t be a nice grey with normal fur, could you?” she muttered. “Diffindo.” She held her wand near the tip in order to cut the matted mess more precisely. 

“Mediwitch Halliwell!” Someone else had arrived. “Step away from the Werewolf!” 

She kept cutting, and Harry whipped his head about to find the speaker. Most of the crowd had fallen back, leaving a group of three healers in lime green robes standing near the lifts. Harry’s gripped his wand hard. 

“Mediwitch Halliwell!” the Healer in the front shouted again. He had a long nose and a hard, square jaw, and Harry felt an overwhelming anger burn it’s way up from his stomach. 

He jumped up, pointing his wand, and whispers ran through the people who had remained to watch the spectacle. There was a tense stand still as the Healers debated whether or not to engage with the Hero of the Second Wizarding War. 

“I’ve found it.” Halliwell, said softly, and Harry was immediately at her side. “Hold down the fur so I can remove the bullet. He won’t like it, so keep a firm grip." 

Harry braced himself, pressing down on the sides of the wound with all his weight as Halliwell said, “Accio,” as gently as possible. There was a sickening squelch and a crack, and the bloody bullet pushed its way out making another hole. Halliwell caught the bullet, and Harry pressed down on the new wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. Draco jerked and whined but didn’t wake from the bewitched sleep. 

“That’s enough!” The Healer’s voice rang through the room. “Mediwitch Halliwell, step away from that dangerous creature!” 

“He’s a person!” Harry shouted back, inadvertently leaning harder on the wound and causing Draco to whine again. 

“He is a Beast, and not our domain.” The Healer insisted, but softer now, more kindly. “We cannot put our other patients at risk.” 

“He’s not a risk!” 

“Has he taken his potion?” 

Harry swallowed and tried to smooth the matted fur. The blood drained from his face, because Draco was a risk. “No.” 

“I’ve placed him under a Bewitched Sleep,” Mediwitch Halliwell said loudly. “If he was going to wake, he would have done it when I pulled that thing from his body. The risk is minimal, and sunrise is in just a few hours.” She put a hand on Harry’s. “We can’t do anything for him until then anyway. We’ll need to run diagnostics and those spells won’t be accurate if he’s shifted.” 

Harry looked up. “A few hours?” 

Mediwitch Halliwell nodded, and then turned to the other Healer. “Surely we can put him in a private room, heavily warded, until then?” 

The Healers looked nervously between themselves, and Harry glared his desperation at them. “Fine then.” 

“Third floor.” Halliwell nodded. “I see evidence of poisoning in the wound.” She held the bullet up to the light. “Aparecuim.” The outline of a flower appeared on the smooth metal. “Wolfsbane. This was soaked in wolfsbane.” 

“Third floor, then. I believe room eight is empty.” The Healer nodded. “And Mediwitch Halliwell, you will take responsibility for this--this--I won’t have anyone else put at risk.” 

She nodded, and Harry resisted the urge to punch the Healer in his ridiculous nose. “Wingardium Leviosa.” 

Draco rose up into the air as Mediwtich Halliwell stood up. There was another crack of apparition, and Harry recognized Alice, panting. 

“Is he?” Alice started to ask, her lip turning white from the strength of her bite. 

“Asleep.” Harry tried to reassure her, but there was no knowing until Draco woke up. Until, Harry reminded himself, not if. 

Halliwell led the way to the lifts, the Healers and remaining spectators quickly parting to let them pass. It was silent in the lift, crowded with the four of them. Harry put his hand on the scruff at Draco’s neck, kept running his fingers through the fur and thinking, don’t die don’t die, over and over. Alice had her nostrils flared, trying to get a better idea of what was happening. 

Alice swallowed and her voice was a bare whisper when she spoke. “He’s dying. I can smell the toxins in his blood.” 

The door opened, and Halliwell began to practically run down the hall to room eight, the other mediwitches and wizards stopping to stare as the four of them moved down the hall. She dropped Draco on the bed, pushed up her sleeves, and began to cast. “His organs are starting to shut down from the poison, and there’s not a lot I can do while he’s shifted.” Sweat started to form on her brow as she cast, and cast, and cast again. 

After a few minutes, she collapsed against Alice. “I’ve reinforced his heart and lungs and liver, but they won’t last and we’ll have to wait for morning to give him any potions.” She didn’t say anything else, but Harry heard the unspoken words anyway. 

Harry didn’t really acknowledge her, just pulled that horrible wooden chair up to the side of the bed and stroked Draco’s fur. He stroked every bit he could reach, down his sides, across his back, that extra soft bit behind his ears. Harry ran his hands down Draco’s legs and across his tail. And then, when he couldn’t take it any longer, he pressed his forehead tight against Draco’s and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. 

That was how Val found him fifteen minutes later. She was out of breath, but paused in the doorway. Alice glared at her, but didn’t say anything from her spot against the wall. “Robards has called for all available Aurors on and off duty to come to the Ministry.” 

Harry didn’t look up at her. “He desked me.” 

“Yeah, I think you’ll still want to come.” 

“I’m not leaving him.” 

At that moment, Hermione and Andromeda arrived looking harried. They all stood in silence for a moment, each trying to decide who should speak first. 

Hermione was the one who broke the silence. “Why are you here?” she asked Val. 

Val said, “I need Harry to come to the Ministry.” 

Alice suddenly growled. “Faye and Vale are there with that scum we caught.” 

Harry did look up at everyone then. Hermione looked small and straight with her hands clenched at her side, holding all the tension inside her body. Val had her hard auror face on, eyes narrowed and chest puffed up. Alice just stared intense and unblinking at Harry, as if she could impart the importance of the moment through her eyes alone. 

Because while there was more at stake here then Draco, Harry just wasn’t sure he cared. 

Andromeda stood behind them, pushed through, knocking Alice’s gaze from Harry, comforting hand brushing Hermione’s arm, a nod at Val. She crossed the room and stood next to Harry. “I will stay. He will not be alone, and you will come back.” 

“I’m not leaving him,” Harry repeated. 

Andromeda put a hand on his shoulder. “The Aurors and the Werewolves are having a standoff outside of the Ministry. What would Draco want you to do?” 

Harry pressed his lips together in a thin line and looked at Draco. Truthfully, he didn’t know what Draco would want him to do, but going to the Ministry was the right thing to do. Was the place where he could do something. 

“I will stay too,” Alice said loudly. 

“Alright.” Harry relinquished his chair to Andromeda, who immediately sat down. “What are the Werewolves demanding?” 

Val frowned, deep lines around her mouth, and Harry realized he was still covered in blood. “An audience with Shacklebolt.” 

“Well, let’s get him then,” Harry said. 

Hermione smiled, but Val grabbed his arm. “You want to take the Minister into a dangerous situation. You’re going to get the boot.” 

Harry nodded. “Probably, but Faye and Vale won’t deal with anyone else. It’s an alpha thing. You go, I’ll get Shacklebolt.” 

“Potter--” Val tried again. 

But Harry was shaking his head at her. “Trust me on this. As long as no one does anything stupid, he won’t be in danger. Just, just try to keep anyone from doing something stupid until I get there.” 

“I will, but you can’t go to the Minister’s house like that.” She pointed at his shirt and trousers. Harry looked down and grimaced. There wasn’t time to change. 

“Don’t move.” Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Scourgify.” It left his clothes feeling tacky and stiff, but at least he didn’t look like he’d just been murdered. “Now go.” She shooed him, but Harry didn’t leave until he saw her sitting down in the chair next to Draco. 

He gave them both a long look, letting the fear and desperation overwhelm him for a moment. Hermione put her hand on his arm, and Val said, “Potter.” It was enough to remind him, and Harry shoved all those feelings down into the little box where he put things he couldn’t cope with just yet, and then he aparated to the Minister’s. 

* 

After waking the entire Shacklebolt household and sending their house elf into a loud and teary fit, Harry side-alonged the Minister to the Ministry. The standoff was in the middle of the street, where Muggles and anyone might see them. He and Shacklebolt stood for a moment in surprise at the sight of Faye standing in front of approximates thirty Werewolves with her hands thrust angrily on her hips and shouting loudly with Robards. The expression of shock on Shacklebolt’s face was matched by the expressions on several Aurors who couldn’t quite get over the sight of the Minister in his robe and slippers still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“He has a name! And can understand everything you say!” Faye was shouting. “Your ignorance of the situation is deeply offensive and I demand to speak with YOUR MINISTER!” She dropped her hand to the wolf next to her and ran her fingers through his fur. 

“Alright, what is going one here?” Shacklebolt loudly broke into the argument. 

“Sir!” Robards hurried to his side. “The situation is not secure. I recommend…” He trailed off into a heated whisper. 

Meanwhile, Faye closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. One of the wolves behind her was growling low in its throat, but the sound was not really threatening. “Minister,” Faye said before opening her eyes. “You do have a lovely smell.” 

Shacklebolt held up a hand to silence Robards. “And just who might you be?” he asked Faye. 

She took two very deliberate steps closer, and then glared at the wolf at her side who refused to back down. Eventually, Faye rolled her eyes and said, “I am called Faye, and I have come to speak with you.” 

The wolf at her side growled, hackles rising. 

She rolled her eyes again. “And to give you something.” Faye gestured behind her where two wolves dragged an only slightly mauled body forward to dump it on the ground to her left. “We’ve done your work for you, found the wolf killer and given him justice.” 

Several Aurors drew their wands and stepped forward while Shacklebolt looked at the dead body on the ground. “That is not what we call justice. He deserved a trial, that is how we do things.” 

Faye raised her chin. “Yes, it is how you do things. And if I recognized your authority, that might be important, but I do not. For months, this miscreant has been terrorizing us, and your Aurors did nothing. In fact, as I understand, your Aurors do not even recognize his crimes as murder.” All the wolves behind her growled angrily. 

Shacklebolt looked at Robards and Harry. “Unfortunately, that is true. I have been working to make changes to our laws, but the Wizengamot does not recognize a shifted Werewolf as a Being.” 

“As I understand it, Werewolves in their wolf form lack sufficient intelligence to participate in the magical community.” Faye scowled and crossed her arms. 

“That is the current definition.” Shacklebolt acquiesced. 

“I have several problems with this classification.” She gestured to the wolf next to her. “He is perfectly capable of understanding everything we say here. In fact,” she grinned down at him, “I will demonstrate. Vale, please go to Harry Potter and then to his partner and then return to me here.” 

He snarled at her but then dutifully trotted over to Harry, gave Harry a sniff, and then more carefully made his way through the crowd of Aurors to find Val towards the back. He jumped up to leave wet prints on her robes before returning to Faye. 

“It is your lack of understanding that prevents you from communicating with him. Furthermore, it is not intelligence that prevents many of us from participating in the magical community, but rather, a lack of magic. I myself am completely unable to set foot in your Ministry on my own.” 

“You’re a Muggle?” Shacklebolt asked. 

Faye growled. “I am an Alpha.” 

“That’s not possible!” Robards shouted. 

Harry leaned in towards Shacklebolt. “Actually, one of the Werewolves has been able to modify the wolfsbane potion so that a certain few are able to maintain their human forms during the full moon.” 

“Is this true?” Shacklebolt turned to look at pretty much everyone. 

“There have been rumors, sir,” said Robards, “but we’ve not been able to confirm anything.” 

“I have heard some rumors about our population as well,” Faye said. “There are many things you do not understand about Werewolves. That is why I have come.” She gestured to the dead body again. “We will no longer tolerate your claim to us if you will not treat us as equal. We wish to live in peace either as muggles or as magical, most of us do not care. But we will no longer allow you to treat us as mere dogs to come and go at your beck and call.” 

Shacklebolt considered her words, held himself and looked her over. “This does not seem like a conversation best held in the middle of the street in the dark. Perhaps we might speak during the day, when I am not still in my pajamas. My secretary will be able to schedule you an appointment.” 

“And just how do you suggest I do such a thing? Shall I ring her on my mobile?” Faye cocked her head to the side, fists clenched at her sides, the wolves behind her moving restlessly. “This is the problem with your government.” Her voice rang clear through the street, echoing off the walls, and in the distance there was the howl of other wolves. 

“Sir,” Harry stepped forward again, “Perhaps I can arrange a time for you to meet at Grimmauld Place. If that would be acceptable to everyone?” He spoke loudly, to the whole group. 

Faye nodded first and just once. Shacklebolt considered for a moment, and then also agreed. “Fine, Potter, get in touch with my secretary and we will arrange a meeting. Ms. Faye, it was a pleasure to meet you.” The wolf at her side growled. “And, Vale was it? A pleasure as well. Robards, I believe we are scheduled to meet tomorrow at two? I will have my secretary move that appointment earlier in the day. Good night.” And he apparated away. 

Robards took two strides towards Harry, who apparated before he could say anything. 

* 

Harry took the halls like a hurricane hitting the beaches, people fled at the first sign of him, and those who dared remain behind were left picking up the detritus and nursing their injuries in his wake. The door to Draco’s room flung open so hard, everyone inside was unsurprised at the plaster sprinkled on the floor. They were surprised to see Harry. 

As a man on a mission, Harry barely spared them a glance, except to notice that there were more of them than when he left. He crossed the room in long strides and took a seat next to Draco before sinking his hands into that white fur once more. 

A loud and insulting cough roused his attention from Draco. “My wife was sitting there.” Lucius Malfoy scowled, the lines at the side of his mouth a permanent fixture in his face. 

If Narcissa had been in the room, Harry might have made some room on this side of the bed, but as it were he merely glared. “Aren’t you under house arrest?” “My son is dying.” The color was slowly leaching from his face. 

“Draco is NOT DYING!” Harry jumped up and shouted. 

Which was the moment two things happened. First, Narcissa Malfoy returned to the room with a gasp and she ran to the side of the bed where, secondly, Draco had shifted. He groaned enthusiastically, his whole face clenched in pain, and he clutched at his side, where the bullet had pierced him. Both Harry and Narcissa reached out at the same moment to clasp his hand and their fingers brushed. They glanced at each other with twin expressions of exhaustion and fear, and Narcissa collapsed in the chair with her hand over Draco’s. Harry leaned over and pressed his lips to Draco’s forehead. 

It was a weak truce, with Narcissa and Harry so close as to both be half on the bed. Lucius and Andromeda had taken over opposite corners of the room, as if they couldn’t stand to be a bit closer to each other. And Alice was still there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall by the door. A few times the mediwitch came in to check Draco’s vitals. 

As the sun started to filter into the room, she said grimly. “There’s nothing more we can do until he wakes. It’s a good sign that he’s shifted back, but--” she trailed off. “Only time will really tell.” 

“Thank you,” said Lucius 

After she left, Alice asked. “Where’s his Pack?” 

“Teddy?” Andromeda asked. 

Alice nodded gently. “We can sort of feel each other. It might not wake him up, but it will be comforting to Draco.” 

Andromeda looked at Harry, both trying to decide if that was what was best for Teddy, weighing that against the benefit to Draco. 

“Ugh,” Lucius sneered. “He doesn’t need something so plebeian.” He stepped up to the bed. “Stop this nonsense, son. It’s time to wake up.” He dropped a hand to Draco’s shoulder. “Please.” 

There was a desperate sort of moment in the room where everyone held their breath and waited to see if Draco would wake up. Harry kept his eyes trained on Draco’s face, on his eyes for the slightest flutter. Those farther away watched for a twitch or jerk of the arm or leg. But there was nothing. 

Narcissa buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking delicately, and Harry squeezed his eyes tighter and tighter. Andromeda was the one to stand and say, “I am going to get Teddy.” 

They all waited in strained silence that was only broken by Narcissa’s soft sobs. Harry put his head down on the side of the bed and stayed there despite the painful pull in his back and neck until he heard Teddy’s small footsteps and Andromeda’s quiet murmurs. 

His lips trembled when he stepped into the room, but he didn’t cry, and no one knew exactly what to say for a long moment. 

It was Alice who spoke. “Teddy, can you feel Draco?” Her voice was soft and careful. 

Teddy’s lips wobbled harder, and he sniffed in answer. 

“We want you to talk to Draco.” 

“But I can’t feel him.” Teddy’s voice cracked. 

“He can feel you; he can.” Alice put her hands on Teddy’s shoulders and knelt down to look him in the eye. “And hear you too. Better than he can hear us.” 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

“You can say anything.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

The room was quiet, and Alice licked her lips slowly. “Do you know the story of Romulus and Remus?” she asked. 

Teddy nodded, hands wiping at his eyes and cheeks. “Draco told me that story a long time ago.” 

Alice nodded. “He told it to my whole pack, too. My Alpha really likes that story.” 

“I don’t like that story very much,” Teddy said emphatically. “It’s sad.” 

“It is a sad story.” Alice agreed. “Almost everyone dies.” 

Teddy looked away from Draco’s still body. “That’s not why it’s sad.” He had Harry’s attention, and Andromeda, and Alice. They were all looking at him intently. “It’s sad because he’s alone.” 

“The boy at the end, isn’t alone,” Alice said softly. “He has friends, advisors, people who remember his parents and can tell him stories.” 

Teddy looked at Draco and then back at Alice. “No, Romulus.” 

And it hit Harry all of a sudden, a flashback to the hallway on Teddy’s birthday and his emphatic insistence that Draco shouldn’t be alone. Until Draco, Teddy had been alone too. 

Teddy walked over to the bed, slipped his small hand inside Draco’s, and said very softly, “No one should be alone.” 

It was Narcissa who saw it, who cried out and threw herself on top of Draco as his eyes fluttered open. She buried her face on Draco’s chest, crying loudly now, and everyone in the room stepped forward, except for Val who leaned out the door to shout for the mediwitch. 

Draco opened his eyes and saw nothing but his mother’s blond hair. He tilted his head to the side and smelled Harry, tilted the other way and saw his father in the corner. He didn’t stop looking around the room until his eyes fell on Teddy, and Harry saw him smile and raise his hand to stroke Teddy’s hair which was a shocking white right now. Harry stepped around the side of the bed, watched as Draco closed his eyes again and flared his nostrils as he smelled the room. 

* 

It was hours before Draco could be discharged, bloodwork, and monitoring spells, and a nervous Healer who lingered in the doorway and didn’t ask any questions while he signed paperwork. Alice pressed their foreheads together before she left, and Harry had to work hard to squish down the jealous feeling in his stomach. Hermione offered to take Teddy back to her house, but Andromeda insisted that he needed to sleep in his own bed. Privately, Harry thought he would find Teddy curled up in his bed, where it probably smelled like Draco and Harry, but he kept that thought to himself. 

And then it was just Narcissa, Lucius, and Harry left in the room, waiting while Draco pushed his arms into a button down that was clearly too tight in the shoulders. “We’ll have to get you some bigger things, when you’re feeling up to some shopping.” Narcissa smiled down at Draco. 

Draco paused in picking up the trousers. 

“Draco is coming home with me,” Harry said. 

“Absolutely not!” Lucius smacked his cane on the floor. “Draco is going to his home, where he can be properly protected from this sort of nonsense.” 

Harry turned on his heel, ready to slam Lucius into the wall and stare him into compliance, when Draco groaned a little. Instead, Harry was pushing Narcissa aside to get to Draco, to tuck a shoulder under his arm and help him stand. Draco laid his head on Harry’s shoulder and gave a little sigh of contentment. Harry choked down an angry comment, and said to the wall in front of him, “Draco needs to be with his Pack right now, and that means Teddy.” 

“What ridiculousness is that? No son of mine is so reliant on such farfetched stupidity. He will be coming home, with us where he belongs. And that’s that.” 

Draco brushed his nose along Harry’s neck, inhaling, drawing strength. “Harry, please take me home.” 

Harry pulled Draco closer against him. He looked up at Narcissa’s stricken expression and then over at Lucius who’s knuckles were white where they gripped his cane. For the first time in a long time Harry saw them as parents, he saw his own fears reflected in their drawn faces. And it was surprisingly difficult for him to lead Draco to the doorway without saying something to soothe those fears. Whatever had happened all those years ago when Draco first left home had not gone away, and seeing them was a choice Harry could not make for Draco. So instead of speaking, he bit his lip and took Draco’s hand and helped him out the door.


	13. If Someone Ever Tries to Kill You, You Try to Kill ‘Em Right Back!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've come to the end. This is the very last update, and I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who stuck with this story through to the end. I hope it has made you laugh, cry, and all those feels in between. It has certainly be a lovely, lovely journey for me, reading all of your comments and kudos while I've worked to post this story.  
> I want to thank some of you for all of the kind, lovely, encouraging things you have said, Bookmysterr and dothechachaslide, crapfaerie and nic_jay. I loved your comments and enjoyed opening my inbox every day.  
> To IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis: I didn't start this story for you, but I feel like I finished it for you. Your comments have filled me with joy and love and just a few tears (the good kind, I swear!). I hope this chapter and the epilogue live up to your expectations. Let's all hold hands and show the world how it's supposed to behave!

Draco laid on the sofa in the parlour with his eyes closed. He still wasn’t feeling 100%, and he had work that evening, a short shift but still. Teddy had been laying on the floor, building towers and showing them to Draco. Two weeks, and Teddy was still struggling to let Draco out of his sight. It was sweet and a little bit demented, and Harry was getting quite tired of waking up at lunchtime with Teddy wiggled in between the two of them. But Draco couldn’t find the energy to be irritated. He’d reached across Teddy to take Harry’s hand before curling back into the pillow and falling asleep. 

It was very quiet in the house now that Andromeda had taken Teddy off to the park, and Draco missed him like a limb. But the Minister and Faye were coming to the house this afternoon to talk, and it wouldn’t do to have a very excitable boy bouncing around outside the door. 

There was a knock at the door and a second later the whoosh of the floo, and Draco could hear Harry tumbling down the stairs in a rush, probably because he didn’t want Draco to get up. Hermione quickly stepped through the floo and into the room, giving a soft smile at the sight of Draco laying shirtless on the sofa. 

That was a thing that had changed in the last two weeks, as the weather took a warm turn and Draco lacked the energy to dart up the stairs or snatch his shirt from the floor. Hermione frowned a bit when Draco levered himself up on his left arm to a sitting position, but then she found his shirt on the floor just as the floo was whooshing again. 

The Minister stepped through, and all three of them had a moment of awkwardness as Draco tried to snatch his shirt from Hermione while she tried to greet Shacklebolt. And Harry had finally opened the front door and was saying something that Draco couldn’t quite catch, but there was an angry noise that could only come from Vale. Everyone stepped into the parlour before Draco managed to retrieve his shirt, and Faye smiled with laughter in her eyes. 

“I didn’t realize it was that kind of meeting.” Vale leered. “Should I take my shirt off too?” 

“Don’t you dare!” Faye and Hermione said at the same time. 

And Draco was finally able to yank his shirt over his head. Harry frowned at his sudden movement, but then, if Harry had his way, Draco would never leave their bedroom, and not for the reasons Draco wanted. 

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, “Shall we get started?” and they were suddenly all business. 

“I think Andromeda left us some tea in the dining room, or we could sit in here if you prefer,” Harry suggested. 

But Draco was tired of staying inside, and the house smelled very much of Draco right now, marking it as clearly his territory. Faye and Vale were used to it, but there was no sense asking for trouble. “Perhaps outside?” Draco suggested. 

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the Minister interrupted. “I’ve been stuck in meetings all day, a bit of fresh air sounds wonderful.” And they all trouped through the house, Hermione with her hands on Draco’s arm while Harry got the tea. 

On the patio, Vale sprawled across his chair, while Faye perched on the edge of hers. Harry hoovered, pouring out tea and making a plate of biscuits while Draco took his seat. Hermione pulled out a pile of notes and straightened them primly on the table before reaching for a brio. 

Shacklebolt leaned forward on his elbows as he spoke, “First of all, I think we need to agree that we all have the same objectives, which is to improve the lives of the Werewolf population and integrate them more fully into the magical society.” 

Faye nodded. “We don’t much care which society we participate in, but we want to be able to live our lives fairly and equally. And, I think it’s important to note that I do not speak for all Packs everywhere, but only my own. You won’t find an Alpha anywhere who will speak for anyone except their own.” 

“Fair enough.” Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair. 

“We thought a two part campaign, perhaps a series of articles and open forums where the community has the opportunity to meet and learn about Werewolves as well as easing restrictions and changing laws. We need to build some public support to increase pressure on the Wizengamot.” Hermione tapped her parchment with the brio. 

“I can do it,” Draco offered, and Harry gripped his hand fiercely. “I can give interviews and talk to people.” Draco licked his lips. “But I’m only one Were, and I may not drum up much sympathy for people. 

Faye smiled. “I am happy to participate as well.” She fixed a look at Draco. “It’s time they know us, all of us. Secrecy only breeds fear.” 

Vale growled. “I don’t like it. I don’t like you being in the spotlight like that. It’s a risk.” 

“What’s the risk?” Shacklebolt asked. 

Faye closed her eyes for a moment and tucked her arms around herself. “I have the biggest Pack in the area, too big for one flat. If Aurors were to raid my den and we were forced to scatter, then there would be no place for us to go. And a divided Pack is a risk to everyone.” She fixed her gaze on Shacklebolt. “A Pack respects their Alpha, we help them maintain control at the full moon. If my Pack were forced to scatter, then we would all have to take the wolfsbane potion. And we all know what happened to Kathleen’s Pack when that happened.” 

“What happened?” Shacklebolt asked. 

“They were poisoned,” Harry said. “It’s not being treated as such because they aren’t recognized as a Pack, but that’s what happened. Kathleen was killed and then her Pack poisoned by wolfsbane.” 

“I see.” Shacklebolt nodded slowly. “The Wizengamot won’t like that.” 

“It’s the first law that has to go,” Faye insisted. “Packs need to be together.” 

“And they need to be recognized as Beings during the full moon,” Hermione added. 

Shacklebolt took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I agree absolutely. Those members of the Wizengamot who disagree argue that because a shifted Werewolf is not able to speak, they cannot participate in society, even under the influence of wolfsbane, they lack the ability to communicate effectively.” 

Faye looked at Draco. “Hyssop.” 

“You can’t just give away all our secrets!” Vale insisted in an almost-shout. 

“What if--” Draco paused and swallowed. “What if we could demonstrate that Weres do communicate? We can show how a Were’s mind works while shifted, how we can work together and how we keep each other safe.” 

“How?” Faye asked. 

“A pensieve. I can take the memories from the last full moon, we can show them to the Wizengamot. I hadn’t taken the wolfsbane, but others had. Others who ran with me. It will show the way we can communicate.” Draco took a biscuit. 

Vale growled. “I don’t like any of this.” He scowled and crossed his arms 

“You can do that?” Faye deliberately turned away from Vale and towards Draco. “I really must learn more about the magical world,” she said in a light, curious voice. 

Vale caught Faye’s hand. “You don’t need to.” He growled again, his demeanor growing, if possible, even more intense. 

“We should view those memories,” Shacklebolt said suddenly. “Before offering it up, we should make sure it shows what you think it does and not something else.” Draco nodded and looked at Harry who said with a sigh, “I’ll get the pensieve.” 

While Harry was gone, Faye asked several questions about the process. “Will I be able to see the memories too? I missed all the excitement.” 

Vale stared at her indignantly. “I think we had more than enough excitement that night.” He shuddered and muttered, “Aurors.” 

“That’s another thing we’ll have to address.” Hermione said suddenly and began scribbling on her parchment. “Not all Weres are magical. We’ll need to find a way to allow them into places like the Ministry, if they’re to participate.” 

And then Harry was back heaving the giant stone basin onto the table. “That thing is heavy.” He stepped back, and Draco stood up on legs that were suddenly shaky. He didn’t want to relive that night, didn’t want to remember what it was like to not have his own mind, the stench of honeysuckle, the roaring fire of the bullet. The fear. Draco brought his wand up to his temple, it shook--his whole arm shook, and Harry put his hand on Draco’s elbow to steady him. The contact was comforting, and Draco spared a moment of longing for Teddy. Teddy didn’t need to see this, but the idea of him chasing butterflies in the garden was comforting. 

When he finally pulled the wand away, a long strand floated into the pensieve. The silver was tinged with yellow from the sheer fear Draco had lived with while chained in that closet. While everyone else leaned forward to look closely at the fluid, Draco leaned back as far as he could. 

“Will I be able to see the memory?” Faye asked, not understanding the strangeness of the color but deeply curious about the whole event. 

Vale shook his head at her. “No, but I will, and I promise to tell you everything.” 

Harry kept his fingers linked with Draco’s. “Will you go in?” 

Draco shook his head fiercely; once had been more than enough. 

“Alright.” Harry squeezed his hand, needing that reassurance. “Let’s do this.” 

Faye watched avidly as all four of them stuck their heads into the pensieve, but Draco turned to the garden. Teddy had been building a castle yesterday in the dirt with his little leaf flags and the structure was still standing in the middle of the garden, dirt baked dry in the warm sunshine. He sat back and thought about watching Teddy build it, sipping tea next to Harry, Andromeda chatting about someone she had seen at the supermarket. It was a nice memory. 

Disturbed only when Vale popped up before anyone else and growled in a particularly angry tone, “There were two!” 

“What?” Faye asked, but Vale was glowering at Draco. 

“You never said there were two!” 

Draco squeezed his eyes and fought down the roll in his stomach at the memory of honeysuckle and sex. 

“We only got one! There’s another one out there!” 

Draco swallowed. “A woman.” 

And then Harry and Hermione and Shacklebolt were pulling their heads out to see Vale standing with clenched fists and shouting, “The risk is all the greater now!” He turned to Faye. “Don’t do this!” 

“What?” Harry demanded. 

“There were two.” Draco said tiredly. “I never saw the woman, but her scent was all over the room.” 

“Disgusting scent.” Vale spat on the patio tiles. 

“That does change things.” Faye said quietly, sitting stock still in her chair, hands resting in her lap. She sucked in a breath and looked at Draco. “Are you quite determined to do this? Will you still stand in front of everyone knowing that it will only paint a bigger target on your back?” 

Draco thought of Teddy. “Yes.” 

Faye nodded. “Then I will too.” She looked at Vale, brought a hand to his face. “We can’t let the world be this way forever. We have to take a stand and fight for our rights. We can’t keep letting them treat us like dogs, not any more.” 

Vale growled, half in anger and half in pain. “This is about more than us,” he insisted. 

“Yes,” Faye let her hand drop away. “And I am thinking of all of us when I say that I will no longer be treated like I am less.” 

Vale whined and practically vibrated before suddenly yanking Faye in close, mouth close to her ear, hands tight on her back. And slowly Faye brought her hands up around him. “It’s a necessary risk,” she said. 

“I don’t like it,” Vale whispered back. 

“You never do,” she said with a smile. 

“Are we decided then?” Shacklebolt interrupted. 

“Yes.” Faye pulled back from Vale. “We’re going to do this.” 

Shacklebolt nodded and then turned his attention to Draco. “I think the memory might help. It shows that you’re dangerous, but there are those elements from the Pack you spoke of, and it also shows the risk to Werewolves is great too. If nothing else, a wizard was kidnapped and held against his will, and that was a crime against a Being under the current definition.” 

“So what do we do next?” Harry asked. 

“We arrange a hearing with the Wizengamot. It won’t be for a few weeks.” 

“It should be the day of the full moon,” Draco said suddenly. “If they view the memory, there will be questions about Pack and shifting and wolfsbane and hyssop. We can give a demonstration at sundown.” 

“You won’t be home that evening,” Harry realized suddenly. “Teddy will be very upset.” 

Draco licked his lips. “I’m registered now, I won’t be home anyway. And my body is still recovering from the bullet so I can’t take regular wolfsbane, it will have to be the hyssop potion.” 

“I don’t like it.” Harry squeezed his hand again. 

Vale snorted. “See, he gets it.” 

“Well,” Shacklebolt interrupted. “I will arrange the hearing then for the day of the next Full Moon.” He looked around the group. “It will probably take all day.” 

“I understand.” Faye said. “As long as I am able to be home before the sun sets it won’t be a problem.” 

“I will make sure you are home by then.” Vale swore. 

“Then you should prepare your statements.” Shacklebolt stood and checked his watch with a sigh. “I’m late for another meeting. It has been a pleasure, and I look forward to seeing you in two weeks.” 

Hermione stood too. “I need to go as well.” 

And then they were all standing and leaving, Harry showing everyone back to the parlour and the front steps. There was a whirlwind of handshaking and goodbyes in the hall, and then Harry and Draco were alone again. He pulled Draco in close for a hug, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “I really don’t like it, you know.” 

“I know.” Draco closed his eyes and breathed Harry in. They were both quiet for a moment. “You know, Teddy’s still gone.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever will we do with all the quiet?” 

Draco smirked. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe I could make you noisy.” 

And Harry huffed a little laugh. “You have work tonight mister.” 

“So you’ll have to do all the heavy lifting then.” 

They were both smiling now, large infections grins on the verge of soft laughter. Draco trailed his fingers underneath Harry’s shirt, the tips skimming underneath his denims in that way he knew sent gooseflesh all over Harry’s stomach. “You are going to be the death of me, you know.” 

“Just a Little Death.” They started towards the stairs, and the front door opened. 

“Draco!” Teddy bounded in, instantly latching his arms around Draco’s legs. 

“Later,” Harry promised Draco. 

* 

Draco answered the door two weeks later, bleary eyed and holding his hyssop potion. He squinted out into the morning sunshine, and Faye squinted back at him, equally bleary and a similar smelling cup in hand. 

“Come in.” Draco gave her a little salute with his cup and stepped back from the door. 

Faye closed her eyes and leaned against the wall once she stepped inside; the hyssop tended to make her a bit lightheaded as well as nauseated. Draco generally just felt like he was fighting to get his muscles to move; both were common side effects. “I hate this day already,” Faye groaned. 

She was drowned out by Teddy shouting, “Someone’s here! Someone’s here!” And then he dashed out of the kitchen and down the hall where he met the full gaze of Faye. “Ooh,” He said coming to a complete stand still. 

“It’s too early for that kind of behavior this morning.” She glared down her nose at him. 

“You’re different,” he said, quiet and slightly awed. 

Draco smiled. “This is Faye, she’s an Alpha, like us not like Harry.” 

“He needs discipline,” Faye grumbled into her cup. 

“Don’t look at me.” Draco scowled at her. “I’m not his Alpha.” 

Harry came out of the kitchen and down the hall with two cups clutched in his hands, coffee for him and Draco. And Draco closed his eyes and breathed in the rich scent. It was really far, far too early for this. 

He sucked down the rest of his potion with the scent of the coffee still caught in his nose, and then handed the empty cup to Teddy. “Take this to Aunt Andromeda for me, will you?” 

Teddy nodded emphatically, carefully taking the cup from him. He looked at Faye and said sullenly, “Harry’s a good Alpha.” 

And Faye laughed. “Don’t I know it. Not everyone can tame Draco.” She ruffled his hair and Teddy dashed back to the kitchen. 

Draco glared into a corner rather than confront Faye over her comment, and Harry tried to smooth over the moment by handing Draco a large cup of coffee. “We thought the best way to get everyone to the hearing this morning was to apparate in. Shacklebolt cleared it with Robards, so we can all apparate into the Auror department. We’ll do it one at a time, and I’ll take Draco first.” 

“What’s apparating?” Faye asked. 

Draco and Harry exchanged glances, and then Draco said, “Teleporting. Harry is going to teleport us.” 

“What’s teleporting?” Harry asked. 

Draco and Faye gave him a blank stare, and then Draco said more to himself then anyone else, “We’ve got to get a telly.” 

“Seriously, otherwise how do you watch the Doctor Who Christmas Special?” 

Draco shrugged and sipped his coffee. “We’re very culturally inept in this house.” 

“And on that note, I think it’s time to go.” Harry reached out a hand to Draco, who tucked himself in close to Harry and breathed in deep the scent of freedom. There was a loud crack, and he opened his eyes to the curious looks of what must have been half the Auror department. “Oh holy hell,” Harry muttered. 

With a slight inhale, Draco untangled himself from Harry and straightened his spine. He stared out coldly at the Aurors and said, loudly, “What, haven’t seen a Werewolf before? I’d think you lot would at least know one.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, but he understood. “Try not to get arrested before I get back.” And he disappeared in another crack leaving behind only the smell of magic. 

Draco sipped his coffee dispassionately and tried to scowl magnificently from behind the cup, until Harry and Faye arrived in another loud crack. Faye stumbled, and would have fallen to her knees if Draco hadn’t caught her arm. Her face was white and her arm trembled in Draco’s hand. 

“Never again.” She looked at him, turning green at the edges. 

“At least once more, I’m afraid.” Draco pitched his voice low so the Aurors wouldn’t hear. “But not until we leave.” 

“Vale will take me.” She pressed against him for a moment of support, and Draco realized just how terrifying this must be for her without her Pack for support. “He promised to come today.” 

She straightened and gave the Aurors a haughty look, haughtier then any Draco had ever managed, and some shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. “What? You all act as though you’ve never seen a muggle Were before.” She shook her head as if they were all merely silly school children being taken to task for not completing their homework. 

Draco thought it was a wonderful sight. 

“Come on.” Harry put a hand on her elbow and one on Draco’s back. “We don’t want to keep the Wizengamot waiting.” He pitched his voice to carry over the crowd and they all quickly made room. 

He led them out of Booking and through the department, where every Auror who hadn’t been there to watch them arrive stopped what they were doing to gape. Even Robards stepped out of his office to watch them process through the department. Harry could feel Draco getting more and more tense next to him, and at one point, he offered his arm to Faye, who leaned against him. 

And then they arrived at the lifts and Harry pressed all the buttons for them, Draco and Faye maintaining a sort of stiff upper lip attitude that Harry wasn’t entirely sure disguised nervousness. Once the lift doors shut, Faye sagged against the wall, and Draco was there murmuring reassurances in her ear. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, keeping his voice low. 

Faye nodded weakly. “It’s just the hyssop.” She sucked in deep breaths, and then just before the lift doors opened, straightened up and looped her arm back through Draco’s. The doors opened into a large entrance hall that stretched up to seven meters with several arches holding up the ceiling. The walls were lined with mosaics depicting different judicial scenes. A man chained to a stone chair, head bowed in defeat, a woman signing legislation, the full Wizengamot in their deep purple robes. The floor was white and black marble, with a black line that stretched from wall to wall creating a clear division. And there, right next to the lifts was an ornate stone desk with a disapproving Welcome Witch staring down her nose at the three of them. 

“Wands please.” She held out her hand insistently. 

Both Harry and Draco presented their wands to her, and she inspected each of them before making several notations on a large ledger. 

“And you?” She held out her hand to Faye. 

“I don’t have one.” Faye replied in a clear voice that echoed down the hall. 

“What do you mean you don’t have one? All wands must be presented for the record.” The Welcome Witch thrust her hand out towards Faye again. 

The lifts behind them dinged. 

“As I said,” Faye used her Alpha voice, “I don’t have a wand.” 

The Welcome Witch puffed up her chest and stood up from her chair. “No one gets past the line without presenting their wand.” She gestured to the thick black stripe of marble in the floor. 

Faye leaned forward, hands on the desk, pushing her face in close to the Welcome Witch. Her nostrils flared and she growled. “You’ll have to make an exception--” 

“Excuse me,” Vale stepped up next to her, tucking Faye in underneath his shoulder and placing a hand on her stomach. “You’ll have to forgive her,” He said, all apologies and cheer. “She’s in a bit of a delicate situation and so forgetful with it.” He passed over his own wand. “I do hope this will do.” 

Vale oozed charm. He’d brushed his hair, pressed his trousers and button-down shirt. He’d even put on a tie. Draco stared in shock, and the Welcome Witch gave him a cheeky smile. 

“Well, I suppose women do get that way.” She waved a hand. “Please, do be careful and good luck!” 

Vale kept Faye tucked carefully against him and steered her across the room to the doors at the other end. 

She stamped on his foot, hard, halfway through the space. “If you ever call me delicate again, I will personally ensure that you never procreate again. And I will do it with my teeth!” She hissed angrily. 

Vale swallowed visibly. “It got you in here, didn’t it?” 

“With my teeth!” 

Harry and Draco followed behind them, Draco smothering laughter but entirely unable to keep the grin off his face. It was a nice way to start what everyone knew would be an exhausting procedure. Inside, the Members were finding their seats, having their own special entrance. A few members of the public had shown up, mostly those deeply invested in the outcome whichever way it went. There were a few reporters and several Aurors. 

Shacklebolt and Hermione were already seated together at a table in the front. Draco was glad to see the chained chair had been removed; that would not have set a very cooperative mood. The crowd was silent as Faye and Draco made their way to the front of the room, where they would be able to address the members directly. Harry and Vale took seats in the back with the other visitors; none of them would be allowed to speak. At the front, Hermione gave Draco and Faye a hug, and Shacklebolt shook their hands as they took their seats. 

Once everyone else had found their chairs, the Court Scribe called, “Quiet in the Court!” and a hush fell over the room. 

Namita Malhotra, Head Sorceress, stood to address the crowd. “What is on the docket today, Scribe?” 

“Petitioners Draco Malfoy and Faye, no sirname, are here to make arguments regarding the Werewolf Legislation Act.” 

“Very well, let us begin.” She took her seat 

“The Court recognizes Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic for opening arguments,” the Scribe called, and Shacklebolt stood up. 

“It has long been argued that Werewolves, in their shifted form, are unable to think, act, or communicate in a manner befitting a Being. That a shifted Werewolf is a danger, lacking the cognitive function to determine the safety of their actions. But, according to the research done by my colleague Hermione Granger and contrary to popular belief, this danger is significantly reduced by the existence of Packs and Alphas. It has been two hundred and fifty years since the Elfric Revolt, but in the following decade, despite the several hundred Werewolves created over that three year period, the Werewolf population dropped significantly. That was the most recent instance of Pack activity. It should be noted as evidence that Packs and Alphas are not the threat we think them to be.” Shacklebolt took his seat. 

“We now open the floor to questions.” The Scribe called, beginning the exhausting question and answer session. Most of the questions were directed at Shacklebolt until Faye broke into the proceedings. 

“I don’t understand, if you have studied the current Werewolf problem in such detail, how hard is it for you to tell us the average Pack size?” Eamonn Williams demanded. He was the primary public face of the current Anti-Werewolf movement. 

“Perhaps you should direct your questions about Packs and Alphas to an Alpha,” Faye called from her seat. 

“The Court has not recognized you. Do not interrupt these proceedings.” The Scribe called. 

Faye refused to be deterred. “Then I request to be recognized by the Court.” 

“This hearing has been called by Minister Shacklebolt, he is the one recognized.” 

Faye leaned back in her chair. “And here I thought you were interested in learning about Packs and Alphas. Why require the presence of an Alpha if you have no interest in hearing what one has to say?” 

“And I suppose you think yourself an Alpha?” Eamonn Williams snarled. 

“Considering I run the largest Pack in London,” she looked directly at Head Sorceress Malhotra as she said, “at twenty-two members, I think I might be able to answer some of your questions.” 

“That’s impossible!” Williams declared. 

“Why? Because I’m small?” Faye asked and there were a few twitters of laughter in the visitor’s section. 

“You’re hardly more than a child.” Another member of the Wizengamot called. 

“And yet, here I sit before you, Alpha of the largest Pack in London. In case you are wondering, Pack sizes range from as small as two to as large as twenty-two.” Faye sat back in her chair. 

“And how many Packs roam our streets?” 

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Faye replied calmly. 

“You are the ones demanding a change in our laws, and yet you refuse to answer our questions?” 

“I can speak for no Pack but my own.” Faye stared at Williams unblinkingly. “And I have come here, to this place where I am so distinctly unwelcome for everything that I am, to assist you in your goal of ruling over a peaceful city. I cannot speak for other Alphas, but I can tell you that we are angry, that the recent events, the murders of my brothers and sisters have made it clear to all of us how little _your_ government and _your_ Aurors care to protect all of its citizens. You claim jurisdiction over the Werewolf population and yet you allowed a murderer to run unchecked through your streets, killing our people, brought down only by _our_ efforts to keep the streets safe. 

“You pass laws limiting the number of us who can be together in one place, you require us to register, to come to your buildings for wolfsbane potion, you make us a risk. A lone wolf is dangerous when cornered, a wolf cut off from their Pack cannot help but yearn for what they have lost, to seek out that safety and acceptance at the full moon. 

“I have come here to tell you that we seek only to live our lives in peace and that your actions have made that an impossibility!” Her voice rang angrily through the room, echoing off the cold marble. “And we will not live this way any more.” 

There was a moment of silence that stretched out impossibly, until finally, the Chief Sorceress said, “It is time that we discuss potential changes to our laws to improve the safety of everyone. In order to craft good legislation, we need a better understanding of how Packs and Alphas function. It is a knowledge we are lacking.” 

Faye sat back down in her seat, finally blinking. “I am here to answer those questions to the best of my abilities keeping in mind my responsibility to protect my Pack.” 

“Then I open the questioning up to anyone in the Wizengamot.” Chief Sorceress gestured to the other members and then also took her seat. 

And Faye answered questions. She shared the story of how she was bitten, of meeting another Were, she explained about the scent and the awareness and the feeling of homecoming. Faye explained about challenges between other Alphas as well as Pack members, about how she holds high regard among her peers. She told other stories, perhaps experiences of her Packmates or other Alphas without ever giving the identities of the people in these anecdotes. She told stories of other turnings, of first shifts, and the fear that comes with the first taste of the wolfsbane potion. Eventually her voice grew hoarse, and she looked at Draco who conjured a glass and filled it with water for her. 

“How does your Pack obtain the wolfsbane potion? According to our records, the three licensed Apothecaries have only supplied the Auror department.” Eamonn had a long list of questions he seemed to be reading from, asking the next almost before Faye was done answering. 

“There are those among the population with the skills to brew,” Faye replied. “Many of us do not trust the licensed sellers.” “Who brews for your Pack?’ 

Faye was silent. 

“I’m afraid that I must insist on an answer.” He was practically grinning at her show of defiance. “I am well aware of the reasons a person such as yourself would choose an unlicensed potioneer, but illegal potion brewing is a great risk. If those without the skills necessary are creating this potion, they may kill their customers.” 

And still Faye was silent. 

Instead, Draco spoke. “I brew for Faye as well as several other Packs.” 

She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, and for the first time Draco realized she had been trying to take the attention from him, protecting him as if he were one of her own. Draco reached out under the table and squeezed her hand tightly before facing his own barrage of questions: what were his brewing methods, the location of his laboratory, how he came to be so skilled. They asked how Draco became involved in the Werewolf population, about his bite, about his Pack. 

They pulled answers from him like teeth from gums until the words bleed out of him freely. Draco spoke of Sawyer, by name, and of Sawyer’s strangely divided Pack. How he began brewing first for the pack, and then others because it was a sign of respect. He explained that Sawyer had gone missing, his murder, and how he, Draco, became Packless. How he became involved in the investigation by Harry Potter, about his own kidnapping, and that the Packs had come en masse to his aide. Draco offered up his own memory of the event as testimony. 

And murmurs went through the Wizengamot as well as the visitor section. “How are there so many unknown witches and wizards who have been infected with Lycanthropy?” 

Draco closed his eyes and licked his lips, he remembered Sawyer taking him on the tube for the first time, introducing him to the telly and the stove, when they shopped for his mobile. He swallowed and then answered, “Sawyer was a muggle.” 

And suddenly people were standing and shouting, in the visitors section and members of the Wizengamot. A loud swirl of chaos and raised fists and noise that could not quite be understood. Draco swallowed against the loss of Sawyer, and Faye’s hand found his, a warm weight on his knee. It wasn’t as good as Teddy’s or Harry’s, but there was still comfort and understanding to be found there. And Draco would take that wherever he could in this moment. 

It was in the chaos that Draco smelled it, sickly sweet like honeysuckle, a mere wisp in the air that drifted through the moving bodies. His face went stark white and his hand clutched at Faye desperately now. 

“What is it?” Faye asked, lips pressed tight to his ear. 

“I can smell her, the other one. She’s here.” 

The scribe was shouting now, having finally resorted to casting a Sonorus charm to be heard over the crowd; it wasn’t helping. Faye jumped up on her chair scanning the room for any sign of something amiss, but she was too small, too muggle, to find the danger. She looked down at Draco, who while still pale, was recovering his nerve. 

“Vale,” Draco said loudly so that she might hear him over the din. 

And Faye threw her head back and howled, a loud piercing thing that cut across the noise and drew everyone’s attention to the woman standing on her chair. She made a fearsome sight, with her face narrowed in concentration, her nostrils flared for any scent, hands clenched in fists. Everyone stopped, stopped shouting and waving their fists, stopped jostling and pressing closer, they all stood stock still until Faye found Vale in the crowd. 

He glanced at her only briefly before pushing his way to the back, a quiet word whispered to Harry, and then he was prowling silently through the crowd. 

It now became imperative for Faye to hold their attention, to provide the distraction and potentially the bait. “You think a Muggle cannot survive a Werewolf attack?” she demanded of the crowd. “That we are too weak? Too stupid? I said at the beginning of this that I am unwelcome for everything that I am, did you think all I am is a Werewolf? You claim jurisdiction over us, and yet, without the assistance of Harry Potter, I would never be able to walk these halls. It would have been impossible for me to register as a Werewolf even if I wanted to. You have made it impossible for us to comply with your laws. It is through your ignorance and unfounded biases that I am a criminal in the eyes of your laws, not through any action of my own.” 

Several members of the Wizengamot had the decency to look ashamed. Eamonn Williams stood up. “While it is regrettable that you are unable to comply with the letter of the law, we must think of the good of all our citizens, not just the few you represent. The safety of our children--” 

“Your children!” Faye shouted, her face instantly red with anger, hand low on her belly. “As if you are the only one with children to think of! As if these laws are all that stands between you and me? When the truth is _I_ am all that stands between you and my Pack! If your Aurors are unable to stop us, and they most certainly are, what do you think prevents the thousands of Weres in this city from overrunning you? You have no idea of our numbers, you have no idea of our abilities, magical or otherwise. You have created a system full of discrimination that does nothing but put you at risk, and we choose to keep you safe. Over and over and over, we make choices that keep you from harm. Even now, we make choices to protect rather than destroy!” 

Chief Sorceress held up her hands to silence the brewing feud. “I think it is clear from this debate today that there is much we do not understand about the lives of Werewolves and the best way to peaceably live with them. I would like to make a proposal that I suspect will be dissatisfactory to everyone in the room. I propose that we study the issue, that we move the Werewolf Support Services from the Atrium of the Ministry to a more neutral location to gather unbiased information on the Werewolf population to include information such as the number of Packs and the ways in which Alphas function in those Packs as well as society at large. All those in favor, please raise your hands.” 

Nearly seventy percent of hands went into the air. 

“In that case, I believe we will need to create a subcommittee to oversee the research done by the Werewolf Support Services and to advise on legislation revisions. All in favor?” 

Nearly all the hands went up, including Eamonn Williams. 

“No!” A voice screamed from the back. 

The crowd shifted, parted, to see who had spoken, a young woman with a heart shaped face who should have looked very pretty, but her face was twisted with grief and hate. Harry recognized Jones with a start as she raised her wand, pointed first towards Faye and the Chief Sorceress and then up at the ceiling, “Bombarda Maxima!” 

Several things happened at once. People began to scream and cast small Protegos as small bits of the ceiling started to rain down. Quickly, Harry cast his own, larger and more powerful shield that managed to cover most of the people in the room, as long as they stayed huddled together. Vale gave a howl as he tackled Jones to the floor, her wand clattering harmlessly against the marble several meters away. Draco had pulled Faye underneath him, and all of a sudden there was screaming and panic. 

Members of the Wizengamot fled to their door which was just outside the range of the shield charm as bits of the ceiling continued to rain down. One witch made a run for it, and a larger piece smacked into her, knocking her to the floor. 

And then the loud and intimidating voice of Robards carried over the chaos. “QUIET!” 

The noise died away immediately, and people turned to look at him. A few took advantage of the sudden peace to run for the doors; by then, two more Aurors had managed to get up shields, creating a sort of safe corridor for people to exit as long as it was orderly. They were trained for this, for handling large, slightly chaotic crowds, and while this particular crime scene was larger it was still second nature for the Aurors to herd people into lines, repeating phrases like, “Calmly, quietly. Everyone will get out,” and, “There you go. Mind the rocks.” 

Eventually the ceiling stopped falling, and Harry dropped his shield, by then most of the people had left. But a few were remaining, Draco and Faye, as well as the Shacklebolt, Hermione, the Head Sorceress, and Eamonn Williams. Robards was overseeing the arrest of Jones, his expression inscrutable in the face of one of his own. Vale was reluctant to let her go, keeping a firm grip on her arm even after she had been bound and her rights recited. 

It was only when Faye and Draco approached that he released her arm and rushed to Faye’s side, pressing their foreheads together and whispering quiet words that Draco tried not to hear. It was too public, too many eyes who might cry foul play for Harry to do that same, but his gaze caught on Draco, on his rumpled shirt and the lines on his face. He took in the way his hair was mussed, flat on one side and sticking up in the back, at the way Draco was doing the same to him. They didn’t smile, but Harry watched Draco’s nostrils flare as he sniffed and the way his shoulders settled a little lower as if Harry’s scent alone had assuaged his fear. 

“I have never, in all my time in the DMLE been so disappointed in an employee!” Robards was saying as he ran his hands through his hair. “This is unacceptable!” 

Auror Brennon hauled Jones up, her face a twisted snarl of hate. “Filthy Weres! I should have gutted you in the closet! Dogs! Every single one of you!” she screamed as Auror Brennon wrapped his arms around her waist, physically yanking her from the room, her voice echoing through the empty space. 

“Well,” Shacklebolt said dryly, “Nothing like a little excitement at the end of the day.” 

“The end of the day?” Draco said suddenly, his attention shifting to Vale and Faye. “What time is it?” 

Robards cast a tempus. “5:38pm. You,” he pointed at Draco, “are due in Booking. We’ll have to get your statement in the morning.” 

Vale and Faye exchanged quick looks. 

“You had best come with me too,” Robards said to Faye. 

Faye drew herself up and looked him in the eye. “No. Not unless you want a Pack of wild wolves roaming the streets.” 

“The law clearly states that all Weres must report to the DMLE for their wolfsbane and for the night of the full moon.” 

“And, as we have just spent all day trying to explain, you people know nothing about the way a Pack works.” She looked over at Draco. “You took your dose this morning, did you not?” She asked, knowing full well that they both drank the hyssop that morning. 

“Malfoy’s wolfsbane will be provided by the department.” Robards reiterated, having decided not to push his luck with a muggle Werewolf. 

Draco swallowed. “I took it this morning.” 

Faye and Vale nodded at him with relief. 

Draco turned back to Robards. “I won’t be needing the Wolfsbane. In fact, as I’m still recovering from a poisoning last month, I can’t take a full dose of Wolfsbane.” He sucked in a breath, because even though Harry had seen the effects of hyssop, they’d never discussed it. Draco had never told a non-Were what his potion did. He looked at Williams and Head Sorceress Malhotra. “I’ve found a way to modify the potion to allow for a lower dose of wolfsbane. It has some severe side effects, but the effects hold back the shift.” 

“What?” Williams cried. 

“It itches like mad, and you feel wrong in your own skin, and there’s this nearly overwhelming need to run, but I won’t shift.” 

Chief Sorceress Malhotra said, “That is indeed an impressive feat. I would very much like to witness this. However did you manage to come up with this modification?” 

“You’ll have to walk and talk, Chief Sorceress, if he’s to make it to the cell in time.” Robards hurried them towards the door. Williams trailing behind a step 

Draco glanced back at Harry just once, but Harry nodded at him, trying to infuse as much reassurance into the gesture as he could. 

“It’s not good for him to be alone,” Faye said, watching as the door shut behind them. 

It was just them now, Hermione, Shacklebolt, Vale, and Harry, a safe place to speak. “I’m going to stay the night, and Andromeda promised to bring Teddy in before bed,” Harry replied. “It’s going to be a long night for all of us.” 

Faye slipped her hand into Vale’s. “But good. It’s good for these things to be known. We can’t ever really have a place to belong as long as there are secrets.”


	14. Epilogue: Because Apparently I can’t write a chapter story without an Epilogue

The Grand Re-Opening of the Werewolf Support Services in it’s new, muggle, location was turning out to be a raging success. Hermione had spent the entire three hours speaking with different Alphas, mostly explaining the goals of the department, the services offered, and how happy she was that they had decided to stop by. 

It helped, of course, that Draco was standing around outside the door just as he had for that very first meeting. And that she wasn’t asking for any names. 

For the moment, Hermione stood back and looked through the room. Andromeda was trying to convince Teddy that he did not need to eat any more of the sandwiches, but that he might enjoy some of the carrots. Teddy was eyeing the cheese tray instead. Faye and Florence were laughing in a corner while Ajax scowled, probably trying to look fierce but utterly failing with the way he kept glancing at Florence with wide eyes. 

No one had signed any of the papers Hermione had left out, but then she hadn’t asked for that either. It was going to be a long road to earn the trust of the Werewolf community, and not asking was the first step. Faye and Ajax had been emphatic about that. The Wizengamot wouldn’t like it, but they’d given her a year of funding already, so there was time. 

Harry and Ajax stood in the corner talking. “I know it probably seems harsh. And maybe it was,” Ajax said. 

Harry didn’t say anything, his face just a series of hard lines. 

“I’m glad he found you.” Ajax stared at Harry until Harry stared back. “He needed an Alpha, and he couldn’t respect my authority.” 

Harry let out a sigh of resignation. “I get that. He doesn’t have a lot of respect for any authority.” 

“He respects you.” Ajax continued to stare him down, to stare the importance of his words into Harry. “You might be the only person he does.” 

The door chimed as Vale and Draco came in, their heads tilted at odd angles in laughter. Vale had his hand wrapped around Draco’s waist, and Draco’s was draped over his shoulder. Hermione glanced over at Harry, who had also looked up at the chime and was suddenly all smiles. He crossed the room immediately, and Draco let go of Vale to put his hand in Harry’s. 

Vale smiled at Faye, who smiled back. And Hermione thought he would go over to Faye, but he turned towards her instead. “You’ve done something very impressive here.” He nodded towards the room. 

Hermione smiled. “Yes. it’s taken a long time, but I think we can finally start making some good changes. 

Vale frowned. “It was one victory, and a small one at that.” 

“Yes,” Hermione admitted, because these things would always be two steps forward and one step back. Opening lines of communication did not mean that it would be smooth sailing from here on. 

“What will you do when the Ministry ignores your data or declares it irrelevant or decides they don’t care?” Vale peered at Hermione closely 

She looked at Harry and Draco and the loose way their fingers were tangled together, at the way Harry was turned towards Andromeda and Draco towards Florence, both of whom had come over to say hello. Who would have thought after everything that had happened between them, with all that history, that Harry and Draco would ever stand so close to each other, let alone hold hands? Who would have thought that Hermione would call him Draco? It was hard fought, and maybe it wouldn’t last, but Hermione thought it would. 

“I have to have hope,” she admitted. “I have to believe that good people will stand up and do the right thing.” 

She watched Draco trace little circles on Harry’s thumb, watched the absent way that Harry pressed a kiss to the side of Draco’s head without breaking the conversation. “If you’d known them in school, then you’d understand how much room there is for hope.” 

“I knew Draco and Sawyer,” Vale said quietly. “I’ve seen how much he can change.” 

Hermione smiled at Vale. “He changed so much more before he ever met Sawyer. It gives me hope. And Harry, Harry will always fight for what he believes in. He doesn’t know any other way.” 

Vale looked at Faye, at the way her hand rested gently on the flat of her belly. “We have to have hope for the future.” 

Hermione watched Harry laugh. “And we have to fight for it, all the time, until people can’t help but admit the truth.” 

She and Vale watched as Draco wrapped his fingers more firmly around Harry’s, stepped just a bit closer, sniffed the air. Andromeda stepped off to round up Teddy again, and she patted Draco’s shoulder as she walked away. Florence gave the two of them a knowing look and muttered something about finding Ajax. 

And then it was just the two of them, standing in the middle of the room. “Are you smelling me?” Harry asked quietly. 

Draco smiled at him, leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I like the way you smell.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I started writing this story, back in March, I was mostly just interested in doing an exploration of what it might mean to be a werewolf in a mostly cannon fic. Pretty quickly, discrimination became an issue in the story, especially as policing is another aspect to the story. If I have made any errors or faux pas in this story, please tell me. It is not my intention to add, unconsciously, to the discrimination problems in our society today. I will do my best to address those issues, to try an fix them in this story.  
> 
> 
> Additionally, during the time that I was writing this, Joanne made some discriminatory comments specifically at the trans community. I did not delve into that particular issue in this story, but I did want to comment on it, especially after watching Lindsay Ellis's youtube video.  
> 
> 
> I want to say that the Harry Potter Fandom is about knowing, your whole life, that you're different from everyone else, and then, in one magical moment, finding out that thing that makes you different, that makes people afraid and angry, is the thing that makes you special. It makes you someone who can save the world.  
> 
> 
> I want this story to remind people that we are a community, that Joanne is just one voice (a loud one, but only one) and that we too have a voice, that we--consumers of this content--can also be creators and can change the narrative (even if only just a little) through our stories and our art, that Joanne's words aren't the only ones that matter.  
>  I want to give a shout out to everyone in this community, I want to thank you cannon fic writers, and you Drarry supporters. I want to stand up and cheer for all the characters of color, go Black Hermione and Indian Harry! I adore you writers of trans/pan/demi/asexual, there aren't enough stories exploring the wide range of human experience. And I don't care if you support Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco, Harry/Ron/Hermione, Harry/Snape, or Albus/Scorpius/Draco, Hermione/Pansy, Ginny/Luna, James/Teddy, Remus/Sirius, Sirius/James, or any other pairing. Because Joanne may have written the story, she may be the author, but it is **our** fandom and it is our love of all things Harry Potter that give her power. This is my call for us to stand together, hand in hand, regardless of your pairings and head cannons, and support each other as the community we are. Because Harry Potter is bigger then any one person.


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